


Written in the Stars

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Blood and Violence, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Curses, Dragons, Fairy Tale Logic, Historical Inaccuracy, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, MacGuffins, Pickpockets, Prophetic Dreams, Romance, Soldiers, Spells & Enchantments, Wizards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:49:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Once, when Nicky had been small, he'd accidentally set the barn on fire.He'd been meaning to see what the noise was.  The one that was all grumbles and snarls in the darkness.  The one that sounded like a story.It had been a good story.  There'd been a brave knight, with armour and a sword, and a beast with claws like spears and eyes of blue stone.  They'd seen the little knight running to save the princess.  The one trapped in the tower by a monster.He'd never known how it had ended.  But that night, the story still shivering in his bones, he'd heard the noise in the darkness, and had to go see it for himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oooookay, so this was originally meant to be a fun Shrek-style fairytale, got away from me, and then somehow ended up more like a deeply historically inaccurate medieval... thing.
> 
> I don't know. I'm sorry. It's got dragons and stuff.

Once, when Nicky had been small, he'd accidentally set the barn on fire.

It wasn't an odd thing to remember. It had been reasonably traumatising, at the time. He'd snuck out late, meaning to see what that noise was. The one that was all grumbles and snarls in the darkness. His teacher had told him a story about a thing that was scale and fire, had made a noise rather like the one Nicky had heard, the one that echoed up through his open window, until he'd peered out through the curtains, heart racing in his chest.

It had been a good story. There'd been a brave knight, one that had worn shiny armour and swung his sword so valiently it had felled trees and cut the clouds in half, but he was still no match for the beast, the one with claws like spears and a furnace in its belly, eyes of blue stone that saw even the tiny little knight as he'd run for the castle, determined to save the princess.

They'd left it there for the week. By the time Nicky took his penny back the next week, determined to hear the rest, the caravans had been gone, the teacher as well. His mother said they'd be back, they always were, but this time she'd been wrong. Others had come, with books and lessons, but when he asked if the storyteller was with them they said no, she'd not been seen in an age.

But that night, the story still shivering in his bones, he'd heard the noise in the darkness, and had to go see it for himself.

He should have been frightened, as he took the poker from the hearth, and lit the lantern from the hall Bare feet padding silently on the grass, the lights of the village shining over the next hill. The barn lurked ahead, a great black shape against the horizon that could have been a monster itself, crouched behind the cottage, eaves hunched up like folded wings, the wind moaning through the cracks in the stone.

Nicky heard the snarl again and wondered whether it was a small one. He could keep it as a pet, perhaps, its claws only needles, wings not the great gliding doom they'd grow to be. It could light the fireplace and sit on his shoulder, and when it got big he could climb on its back and use it to strike down his enemies, especially that boy in the village who always threw rocks at him when he passed. Burn the boy to a cinder and let the beast eat his charred bones.

That thought in mind, he peered around the door. Saw a shadow move, and heard it scuttle across the floor. It was dark, back arched, eyes glinting in the lamplight. Nicky held his breath.

There was a growl.

The wolf leapt.

He stumbled back with a shout, poker defensively in front, lantern swinging back intending to strike. Was covered a moment later with fur and anger, the iron length in his hand barely enough to hold back gnashing, dripping teeth. Its eyes blazed, seeming almost to spit fire.

It looked up, whimpered.

Ran.

Nicky gulped in surprise, heart still hammering. Looked around, sure it was circling, ready to pounce again.

He felt the heat before he saw it.

The lantern, overturned on the packed dirt floor, the haybale nearby ablaze, a virulent orange flower that seemed to swell outwards as he stood there, mouth agape, the poker still in one hand.

He ran.

The pump was behind the house, bucket full a fumbling, rusty, creaking pull later. He ran back in. The fire was crawling for the stairs.

“Nicky...”

“Dad, I...” Idiotic, probably, but he tried to stand in front of it, hoped he could hide it, like that time he'd broken his mother's favourite cooking pot. Sweep it under the table and clean it up later.

His dad took the bucket. “Go.”

He ran. To the pump. Shame and fear a hard stone that sent his feet stumbling. Filled another bucket. Ran back. His mother was awake, his sister. He could hear his baby brother crying. There was soot on his sister's cheek as she took the full bucket, her eyes like that of a frightened horse, too wide and shining with terror.

They fought it half the night. Until at last, coughing, his father dumped water on the last of the blaze, the stone walls blackened with ash and the thatched roof heavy with smoke.

Nicky swayed. Tried to pull in a breath. His sister threw up in the corner, wiped her mouth with the singed edge of her skirts.

“What were you doing?” his father roared. Nicky wanted to cry, but the fire had evaporated every tear.

“There was...” He gulped. Felt the ground sway. “I'm sorry.”

He fell, darkness dragging him down.

  
  


*

  
  


The cobbles were slick when Nicky skidded around the corner, Shane hot on his heels. It was a bright morning despite last night's rain, and even the air smelled good, like the water had washed away the stench of horse dung and piss in the alleyways.

He launched himself over a puddle, heard a laugh behind him, the clatter of something being knocked over, and vaulted up over a low wall, wriggling when he got stuck for a moment on the top.

“Move!”

“I'm trying!” Dropped to the ground hard, heard Shane do the same, and then they were up and off, feet pounding until they emerged on the main street, ducking and weaving as they tried to get lost in the crowded marketplace.

“Shit, shit,” he heard Shane pant. Nicky darted sideway, dived underneath the covered table of a stall. Shane was beside him a moment later, hand over his mouth to hide his laughter.

“Lads.” It echoed down through the cloth, and a foot darted through to kick Nicky smartly in the back. He slapped it away. Bryan sighed heavily above them. “Yer gonna get me in trouble, ya know.”

“Shh,” Shane whispered. Bryan sighed again. “They gone?”

“Who?”

“The guards.” Nicky lay down to peer under the gap, the dirty cobbles cold on his cheek. He could see feet, but not much else.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Right,” Bryan said disbelievingly. “Like last time, then?”

“Exactly like last time,” Shane replied. “Framed.”

“Never did a thing,” Nicky confirmed. He pushed himself back up, head almost banging the underside of the table, shoulders hunched over. The tablecloth edged up, light spilling in, and when they looked up there was a smirking face peering in at them.

“Got my cut?”

“What cut?”

“I'll get the guards over, then? Let them know you didn't do anything?” Nicky saw Shane's eye twitch. “Nah, you're right. I don't deser-”

“Here.” The pouch clinked as Nicky reached into it, then thrust a couple of coins into the readily outstretched hand. They were snatched away. “Thanks for your help.”

“Ah, no problem.” Bryan stood back up, the cloth falling to close the dim in around them. Shane was glaring at Bryan's shoes.

They stayed there for what felt like hours, hunched under the little table. It smelled of fish under here and they'd hear Bryan dickering from time to time, trying to sell whatever he was trying to move that day. It had probably been other peoples', originally, but Nicky was no stranger to the concept. In his experience everything had belonged to someone else once, so there was no point slowing down the transfer, especially if it worked out to his benefit.

“I'm hungry,” Shane whispered.

“You're always hungry.”

“Throw you a biscuit for another one of them coins,” Bryan said. Shane scowled.

“I can wait.” They both glared at his shoes. Bryan snickered above them. Shane rested his chin on arms crossed over his bent-up knees, mirroring the pose Nicky had been folded into for an age. “How do we get ourselves into these messes?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

“No.” Shane closed his eyes. Nicky nudged him fondly with one of his feet, saw a fleeting smile. “How much?”

“Er...” Nicky peered into the bag. “Fourteen?”

“Keep us sorted for a week at least,” Shane commented. Nicky nodded absently. It probably would, if they stretched it out. Best haul in a while. Nicky had thought the bag looked heavy, when Shane had been distracting the merchant with inane questions about the freshness of his dried meats, though he hadn't expected the knife to catch as he'd cut the bag loose from the man's belt.

He'd not looked happy.

Neither had the guards.

Shane had run first. He was good in a fight, was Shane, but not against two armed men. Had gotten plenty of practice with one of the gangs of street kids prowling around the place, though most of them were in prison now. Nicky had often seen them, from the window of the armourer where he'd been doing his apprenticeship, though the old man had been caught trying to cheat a lord and had been summarily clapped in irons, and his wife hadn't had much patience for some boy who was a sub-par blacksmith at best.

There'd been no point hanging around at home, no future there, so when the man had come through travelling and said he was headed to the city for his trade, Nicky had been sent with him. His mother had cried, but his father said it was for the best. An opportunity. There was damn sure no future at home, on crumbling land that wouldn't yield, and he'd always been more trouble than he was worth.

He'd been sent away two weeks after the accident with the barn and the lantern. His mother had said he wasn't to blame. Mischief just tended to follow him around, waiting for its chance to pounce.

He'd been hungry. Fourteen, four years away from home, too old to turn sympathy as a beggar. He'd started stealing, fighting. Had gotten into a brawl with a lad in the inn who he'd thought had looked at him funny, and they'd both been collared by the city guard, ended up in a cell together awaiting sentence. He'd watched as Shane had smirked, fished the stolen key out of his shoe, and pushed open the creaky iron bars while the guard had been sleeping off too much ale in the corner

He was a good laugh, was Shane. And, ten years later, a good friend.

“I'm packing up,” Bryan announced. Nicky opened his eyes, realised he'd nodded off. It was dark under here, the red light of the setting sun creeping under the cloth. “No guards, if you want to clear off.”

Nicky crawled carefully out, peering around for anyone suspicious. Shane unfolded himself from under the table with a groan.

“Thanks,” Shane said grudgingly. Bryan nodded.

“No bother.” He yawned. “Shame, really. Us honest lads trying to run our businesses, and those bastards always sticking their noses in.”

“Dreadful,” Nicky snorted. “Community service, far as I'm concerned. If people wanted to keep their purses, they'd leave them at home.”

“Definitely,” Bryan agreed. “Still, they've been getting worse lately. Lost two lads to the chopping block last week.” He almost looked sad at that, or did a good job of pretending. “Another one's waiting for sentencing, and the new lad caught an arrow in the back trying to get over the wall after some nosey stablehand caught him sneaking out after a burglary.” He sighed. “This rate, I'll have to go back to doing it myself.”

“Shame,” Nicky agreed. Bryan shrugged.

“So you've got jobs going, then?” Shane asked. Nicky shook his head. They'd talked about this. It was good to have Bryan on your side, but you didn't work for him, not if you wanted to keep all your parts intact.

“Might do.”

“Not for us, though,” Nicky interrupted, nudging Shane away. He was looking interested, and that wasn't a good thing. “Sorry mate, full schedule. Thanks for thinking of us.”

“No bother.” Bryan was looking at Shane. Nicky didn't like it. “Well, if you ever change your mind you know where to find me.”

“We do,” Nicky assured him. “Better go, though. Guards and all that. Erm...” He shoved Shane ahead. “Come on. Something to eat, yeah?”

That seemed to make Shane happy.

Nicky towed him away before he could argue any further.

  
  


*****

  
  


“No.”

“But...”

“No.” There was the loud slurp of a ladle popping free, and then a bowl of stew was being handed out. He passed the girl behind the pot the last of their money and gave the bowl to Shane for the first mouthful. He sipped it carefully, pulled a face, and handed it back. Nicky had to agree, though at least it was hot.

“We can't keep doing this forever,” Shane pointed out. Nicky shrugged. Probably true, though forever depended on not getting run through with a sword, and he didn't like his chances. “Bryan pays well. If we can save up a little we can go, start somewhere else. The watch are starting to recognise us, you know.”

“I know.” He handed the bowl back, and they began to walk, up towards the brothels. It was usually good pickings, men with full purses, drink slowing them down.

“We do a couple of big jobs, and...”

“We'll end up dead or breaking rocks under a whip,” Nicky interrupted. “He may pay well, but I don't know a man who got rich working for Bryan, not one that lived.” Shane's sullen silence was enough reply. “It's not worth it, Shay.”

“Nothing's worth it,” Shane pointed out. “He took another gulp of the stew, a large one. Nicky understood. Eventually your stomach got louder than your tongue did, was just happy to have something warm in it.

“It's a bad idea.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. Bryan's...” Nicky sighed. Untrustworthy. The fellow with the loudest laugh at the inn, one eye scanning the room and the other on the door. Your mate, right up until he wasn't.

“I get it. It's fine.” Shane was sulking. Nicky tossed an arm around his shoulder, pressed a kiss to his cheek. The smile he got was half-hearted at best.

“I'm just looking out for you.”

“I know.” He kissed Nicky's shoulder, moved in closer. Shane was in a mood apparently. Nicky would happily indulge. He was beautiful when he was pouting, a little demanding and in need of a bit of extra affection. “Come on,” he urged. “We have a good night, we can have something a bit better than this.” He took it, drained the rest, then stuffed the empty bowl in his pocket. “Maybe even an ale or two, somewhere dry to sleep?”

“Maybe,” Shane murmured, pulling away.

  
  


*

  
  


The brothels were busy. They lurked outside for a while, keeping an eye out. The guards didn't tend to come down here so much, unless they were off duty and looking for something to pass the night. A lad came running out of one of the doors, breeches clasped over himself and a stern-looking madam holding a fearsome switch behind him. Shane laughed.

“Poor lad.”

“Sure he deserved it.” Nicky nodded across the road, to where a blonde lad was playing a worn and beaten lute, eyes firmly on the hat in front as he sang.

“Kian's back.”

“I can see,” Nicky chuckled. “So much for going west to make his fortune.”

“Greatest bard in all the land, is what he told me.”

“All the world, I heard,” Nicky snickered. They watched as a man stopped, said something. Kian nodded, scooped up the hat, and followed. “Looks like he's expanding.”

“No, he's just realised people will pay for it.” Shane nudged him. “Think he'll accept a third of the cut if we wait until the lad's pants are down?”

“One way to find out.” Nicky tugged his arm. “Come on.”

  
  


*

  
  


It was harder than expected. They lurked outside the door for a bit, but there was always someone on watch, so instead they busied themselves by cutting purses. Nicky lifted a pocket-watch and a nice silk handkerchief, stuffed them under his hat, and ducked into the crowd, tipping it up to show Shane, who laughed, eyes dancing with glee.

They were about to leave when they heard the strum of a lute.

“Lads.” Kian nodded as they walked up. He was standing a little stiffly, but looked determined enough, was twisting the pegs to get the instrument back in tune. “Good to see you.”

“Surprised to see you,” Shane said. “Back in town?”

“Yeah, well...” He sighed. “Remember that lord?” Nicky did. Some rich gent who'd gotten infatuated, said he was going to take Kian away across the seas, as long as he stayed in bed. “Soldiers caught him at the crossing. Apparently he had some other lad's title. And a wife.” Shane made a sympathetic hum. “Suppose it was too good to believe.”

“Sorry,” Nicky murmured. “What you doing now?”

“Whatever I can.” He strummed the lute again. “Good pickings?”

“Not bad,” Nicky allowed. Shane shrugged as well. There was no point giving your cards away, not unless you had to. Kian was an old hand at the game as well, even if he acted like he was an artist, better than everyone else. “Any word?”

“Heard there's a few good bounty jobs running, if you don't mind getting your hands dirty.” He nodded at a passing soldier, then pulled a face behind his back. “And if you've got a death wish, Bryan's looking for lads.”

“Heard that too?”

“I hear everything.” Kian sighed. “Even if I don't want to.” He glanced at them. “Don't mean to be rude, but...”

“You've got work, I get ya.” Nicky smiled. “Catch up soon?”

“I'll be at the tavern all week.” Kian nodded to the end of the street. “After that...” He shrugged. “Come find me, yeah?”

They agreed that they would. Nicky pulled his cap from his head as they walked away, stuffed it and the contents in his pocket. Shane put an arm around his waist again.

He heard Kian start to sing as they rounded the corner, his voice sweet and clear, carried on the smoky air.

  
  


*

  
  


They paid an innkeeper to let them kip in the loft. Barely any light to see by, though they could hear laughter and the clink of glasses through the beams, and the straw lining the walls kept the warm in.

Shane took him slowly on the plank floor, breathing into his neck, drawing it out while they bit at each other, Nicky sure his moans couldn't be heard through the ruckus from downstairs. At one point a fight broke out – there was shouting, the sound of splintering wood – but they ignored it, Shane kissing him hard until he pulled out, releasing himself on Nicky's stomach with a pleased croak.

“Sleep,” Nicky murmured, once they'd wiped themselves down with a rag dampened in the rainwater pooling under the hole in the thatch. Shane smiled up at him, kissed him gently, then closed his eyes, their warmth mingling as they held each other in the dark, Shane's breath the best lullaby he could hope for.

There was fire in his dreams. Claws and scales, the glow of eyes in the darkness.

He woke with a start. Heard the crack of thunder, sure he could still feel the furnace-blast on his skin.

“Nicky?”

“Go back to sleep,” Nicky murmured. His heart was still hammering, but soon it slowed, soothed back down by the patter of rain and the glow of the moon. Just a bad dream. By now he was used to it.

He had the same one every night.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was good to see Kian again. Nicky had always liked him, though he suspected Shane liked him a little more than that. He was a nice looking lad, a good laugh. Prone to swinging the occasional punch when he had a few in him, but otherwise a big sweetheart, savage when he was looking out for his own.

Nicky wasn't sure if they were friends, but they'd certainly had each others' backs more than once.

The tavern was crowded. Kian was staying upstairs, sleeping with the owner if Nicky was any judge. Judging wasn't something he was prone to doing. It was a hard world, and you made your way in it best you could, even if it meant warming someone's bed or cutting their purse. As long as he was left well enough alone, everyone else could do what they pleased to get by.

“What's the job, then?”

“Not sure.” Kian leaned forward, chipped mug clasped between both hands. “Maybe four days' travel, this place upriver. Heard there's been soldiers seen in the area, but they're not fighting. Word is they're guarding something.”

“Something?”

“Yeah.” Kian took a gulp of his ale, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Heard rumours. Some people reckon there's a mine, that there's so much gold there they can't carry it all out at once. You can pick it out of the ground like potatoes.”

“Really?” Shane's eyes were lighting up. Nicky had to admit he was intrigued as well. “Do you think that's true?”

“Don't know. Someone else reckons there's some noble lady there, a princess or duchess or the like. Taken ill while travelling, couldn't go on, so they're guarding her while they get a physician in.”

“Can't really sell a princess,” Nicky pointed out. “Bit conspicuous.”

“Not much more than trying to fence a gold nugget as big as your head,” Kian reasoned. “All I know is everyone's interested, but nobody's game to try it. I don't mean there's a couple of men at the door, I mean it's a whole bloody garrison. I heard about it from a lad I was travelling back with. He'd passed the day before, said there were soldiers marching, camps set up, the whole bit. It was like they were going to war.”

“You trusted him?”

“As much as I trust anyone else.”

“It's not much to go on,” Shane said. “I mean, it's maybe a princess, or maybe gold, or maybe it isn't anything at all.” He looked excited, though, was pursing his lips the way he did when he was working something through in his head. “We spend four days getting out there, and that's four days of work we've lost. Eight if it's a bust.” He hesitated. “You planning something?”

“Me? No. God.” Kian laughed, though it didn't entirely reach his eyes. “I mean, maybe if I knew more. It's an adventure, isn't it?”

“We can't afford an adventure,” Nicky said firmly. “We really can't.” He looked at Shane. “That pocket-watch will get us through at least two weeks of sleeping indoors. I'm happy with my lot.”

“Yeah. S'pose it could be worse,” Shane mumbled. Kian shrugged.

“Silly, probably,” he added. “Fun to dream.”

“Yeah.” Nicky drained the rest of his cup. Shane was staring into his own, looking almost forlorn. Kian was fiddling absently with his guitar. “But if we're talking about jobs that might actually be worth it, that man in the corner keeps getting distracted by the bar-lass.” He saw Shane's eyes flick over, saw Kian smirk. “Show him how we do things around here?”

“I know him,” Shane murmured. “He's on his last coin, one of Bryan's.”

“That's not our problem,” Nicky pointed out, though he already knew they wouldn't. Never the poor or the unfortunate. Any lad who could afford it was fair game, but any lad who couldn't was a man you could need a favour from one day, who might be working the street over or be inclined to turn you in if there was bad blood. You didn't shit on your neighbours, especially when they were already struggling.

“Another?” Kian waved his mug. Nicky handed him the money.

“Another,” he agreed.

  
  


*

  
  


It was late when they stumbled upstairs. Kian was indeed bedding down with the owner, and he managed to wrangle them a room to sleep in with four other travellers, one of whom snored like a donkey and another who smelled like he hadn't washed in an age. They squashed in a bed together, Shane wrapped around his back while Nicky tried not to breathe directly into the flea-infested blankets. A hand tucked under his shirt, palming to his stomach, and he smiled.

The dream was always the same. Creeping out at night, the sky a wheeling confusion of stars. Iron in one hand and light in the other. The creak of a door, the click of claws, weight and breath and snarling, and then the fire, blooming and spreading until he could feel the hair singeing from his head, his clothes melting from his body. Trapped and fighting while eyes had shone, glass-blue and cruel.

Tonight it was different. Flare of heat, the burst as the door broke down and the air rushed in, feeding it, and then... darkness. Something wrapped around him, holding out the fire, cradling him in, walls that were breathing and alive when they folded around him, safe.

He was woken by the roar. Came out with a hammering heart, the sky bright with lightning while the thunder rolled away.

Shane. Shane was gone.

No.

Shane was...

He looked around. Shane, still curled in the bed while Nicky stood at the open window, not sure how he'd gotten here, the rain trickling down his face.

He could hear Kian upstairs, between the thunder. Moaning and thumping away; the creak of the bedframe. He ran a hand over his face to wipe away the cold droplets, then turned, treading carefully around the other sleepers as he made his way back to bed.

  
  


*

  
  


“Give you ten for it.”

“Bryan...” Nicky looked at the pocket-watch in shock. “It's worth more than ten, surely? Twenty at least.”

“Who's offered you twenty?” Bryan raised an eyebrow. They both knew the answer. Nobody had. Nobody would, probably. “I can do eleven, but only because I like ya.”

“Eleven...!”

“Nine, then, for wasting my time.”

“I...” He pursed his lips. “Throw in the handkerchief and we'll call it thirteen.”

“Twelve.”

“Twelve,” Nicky sighed. He handed them over, got a clinking bag for his troubles, knotted with a drawstring. Both the watch and the handkerchief disappeared under the table, which was piled high with odds and ends. Quills, gemstones, a hat with a feather in it, an iron cookpot, a brooch, a leather purse... none of it seemed to have anything in common, apart from it was probably all stolen.

“Good doing business with you.”

“Yeah, it's always a pleasure.” Bryan noticed the sarcasm. He didn't seem to mind. Nicky began to turn away, wondering what he'd tell Shane. They'd talked about it the night before, made plans for what to do with the money, though it appeared there wasn't nearly as much as they'd expected. “Hey... out of curiosity, have you heard about this thing up river? Soldiers guarding something?”

“Might have.” He was smirking. Of course Bryan had heard. “What's it worth to ya?”

“Nothing, just heard a bit of gossip, though it was interesting.”

“Don't know nothing, then.” Bryan's eyes darted meaningfully to the pouch still held in Nicky's hand. “Might be able to find something out, for a fee.”

“Not that interested,” Nicky laughed. Bryan was still watching him expectantly. “See ya then.”

“Sure you will.” Nicky wove away through the crowd, headed back towards the tavern.

  
  


*

  
  


Shane was disappointed about the money, Nicky knew that. He didn't show it, though. Just nodded thoughtfully, took his cut, and asked Nicky what the plan was. Nicky didn't really know. They'd be comfortable for a few days at least, enough to figure out what to do next. That was all they could really hope for.

They slept outside, curled up where two overhanging rooves seemed to cover most of the alleyway. Three days later they were down to almost nothing. Shane rubbed his growling stomach, face twisting into a grimace.

“Can we eat yet?”

“If we do, it's the last of our money,” Nicky pointed out. The city guard had been growing in numbers, it seemed. Suddenly they couldn't turn a corner without someone watching. He'd managed to sneak a couple of coins from a vendor who'd left his stall unattended for a moment, but it had barely lasted, and now they were down to scraps.

“There's always rats.”

“We're not eating rat.”

“You telling me it's pork in that stew?” Nicky shrugged. Probably true. “Maybe...” He hesitated. “Maybe we talk to Bryan.” Nicky opened his mouth to protest. “Nothing big, just a little job. An errand or something. He's got to have something safe going.”

“Does he?” Nicky said incredulously. Shane sighed. “No.” He fished in his pocket, pulled out one of their last two coins. “Here.” He detoured slightly, stopped in front of a tent manned by a woman stirring a large cookpot, and exchanged it to fill up the bowl he was still carrying in his pocket. He handed it to Shane, who sipped, then offered it. Nicky shook his head.

“You don't want any?”

“You're hungry.” Nicky pushed it back towards him. “I'll be alright.” Shane studied him for a long moment, then shrugged and lifted it to his mouth again. “We'll figure something out.”

  
  


*

  
  


It was late.

Nicky hadn't slept. Couldn't. His stomach hurt, growling with hunger, an angry cat that kept clawing madly, trying to get out. Shane was asleep. Nicky ran fingers through his hair, watching dark lashes shift, the tense line of his forehead.

Sweet boy. There was a reason they'd stayed together so long, despite that terrible first meeting. He could count on Shane, trust him, but there was something else. A fast friendship that allowed them to laugh even when things seemed bleakest. That made him want to be kind, because Shane was always kind to him, making sure that he always had a hand outstretched to tug Nicky up when he was low, never leaving him behind.

He was worth better than this.

Nicky kissed his forehead, and held him closer.

  
  


*

  
  


Kian looked fed up too. Nicky sank down at the table, hands rested on the rutted wood. He was tired, almost faint. Two days since he'd eaten, almost that much for Shane. They'd done their best, but there seemed to be guards everywhere, people on watch and paranoid. He couldn't explain it. There'd been murmurings too. Not just about what was happening upriver, but other things; bandits, enemy ships seen drifting out at anchor. The whole world seemed to be on edge.

He still had one coin in his pocket. Was determined to save it until the last possible moment, hope they could hold out before their next meal.

“Lads, if you're not paying you'll have to leave.”

Shane gulped, near tears.

“It's on me,” Kian said quickly, and asked for bread and ale.

She didn't look happy about it, but she tromped off. Nicky slumped gratefully.

“Kian...”

“Don't thank me.” The food came quickly, a dry heel of bread and three watered-down mugs. Shane tore off a piece straight away, shoved it into his mouth. Nicky picked at his more carefully, wanting to make it last, the growling of his stomach too insistent to go slowly. “Things aren't right,” Kian commented, nodding at the guard near the door. It was quiet in here, especially for somewhere that was usually raucous, loud singing and fights breaking out. “I was playing yesterday on the street and they told me to move along. When I asked why they wouldn't tell me, but they've been moving other people on as well. Beggars and bards, mostly, but I know a few of the bed-girls have been marched off as well.”

Nicky nodded. He'd heard whisperings of the same, though they'd been drowned out by the hungry rumble of his own self-interest.

“You're doing okay?”

“Not really.” Kian took a sip of his ale. “Got a little saved up, but it's running out, and if I can't work...” He hesitated. “Going to leave,” he mumbled into his drink.

“What, again?” Shane piped up. Kian shrugged. “Where you going this time?”

“Not sure. Can't stay here, though. Thinking I'll head north, see what the ruckus is.”

“What, the gold or the princess?” Nicky laughed. “Do we know which it is yet?”

“Heard talk.” Kian put his mug down. “Supposed to be something amazing. A weapon, I heard. There was talk of this noise, so loud you could hear it miles away, and trees burned down, animals dead in the woods. Something new nobody's ever seen before.”

“How does that help us?”

“Doesn't. Figure I check it out, and if there's nothing there I'll sign up, do that for a bit. At least there's food and somewhere to sleep.”

“You're going to enlist?” Nicky laughed disbelievingly. “You?”

“What else am I going to do?” Kian pushed the plate away. “You want to come with me, I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn, got a place on a cart headed partway there. All I know is I can't stay here.” He glanced around them, at the watchmen on the door, the nervous patrons, then drained his cup and stood. “If I don't see you: goodbye. I'll probably miss you.” He patted Nicky's shoulder. Shane stood, yanked him into a hug, making him laugh in surprise. “Dawn, yeah? East gate.”

The he was gone, the door creaking shut behind him.

They finished the bread slowly. Nicky chewed, washed it down, and when he looked up Shane was staring into space; looked like he was working through something only he could see.

  
  


*

  
  


The marketplace was quiet that afternoon. It was almost eerie. Where before there'd been people, shoving and pushing and crammed so tight there was no space to move, now he could hear the wind whistling between the buildings, see the filth sitting stagnant in the gutters.

“Lads.” Bryan nodded. The pocket-watch was on display, Nicky noticed, at almost three times what he'd sold it for. He thought about being angry but could find the energy. A woman drifted past, slowed to look at what Bryan was selling, then hurried on. Even the fishmonger and butcher's stalls were quiet, the usual crowd down to a few small clusters of harried people.

“Bryan.” Shane glanced at the pocket-watch too, mouth thinning when he saw the price. “Quiet today.”

“Quiet every day, lately.” He patted the pouch on his belt, though it looked mostly empty and only let out the hollowest clink.

“Know anything?”

“Don't know nothing.” Bryan glanced at Nicky, and he understood. For a fee. Their last coin sat heavy in his pocket. No. He wasn't giving up eating for a fairy story. “Got a job tonight, if you're interested. Can offer you good money.”

“What's the job?” Shane asked. Nicky shot him a glare.

“Burglary.” Bryan looked like he was trying not to smile. “Easy one. Man stole something, I want it back.”

“What is it?”

“None of your business.” Bryan reached into his coat and pulled out a slip of paper. Crudely drawn map. Nicky recognised the high street. He peered at it. House on the western side, big place if it was that part of town. “A knife. Sentimental value, you know? Belonged to my late grandmother, bless her soul.”

“We don't do burglaries,” Nicky said. They didn't. He didn't like them, too claustrophobic, and always hard to get to an exit. On the street it was easy, places to hide and alleys to duck down. He didn't like having nowhere to go.

“How much?” Shane asked.

“Can offer you thirty for the gig.” Nicky saw Shane's eyes widen, felt his own stomach give a guilty clench that wasn't just hunger. Thirty was a lot. It was an awful lot. But...

“No thanks,” Nicky said firmly. Shane was already going to protest. Nicky shook his head. “Not interested. Busy schedule, you know?”

“Yeah, you gonna cut all these purses?” He glanced around at the empty marketplace. The brothels had been almost empty as well. “It's not going to get any better. This is just the start.”

“The start of what?”

“New management's coming in.” Bryan nodded up towards the top of the hill. The keep was up there, the palace beyond it. “Wants to clear out all the riff-raff. You know the king's on the way out, right?”

“I heard something, yeah.” Nicky didn't really care. One was the same as the other. If the aristocracy wanted to fuck about and keep their coffers full that was their business. The only thing that changed around here was whose name you had to chant at the parades. It was invariably a man with a beard who probably had someone to wipe his arse for him.

“Man's got an advisor of some sort, though there's talk he's the one really running the show. The old fella's bedridden, apparently, rambling nonsense, so his mate's in charge, and with no heirs they reckon he'll take over until the new lad gets here.”

“Who's the new lad?”

“Some jumped-up third cousin. King was a decent enough fella. He let us get on with it, knew the whoring and stealing and all the rest kept people happy, stopped people getting bored and starting trouble. Live and let live, you know? His advisor friend... well, I don't know if it's religion or what, but he reckons he can make us all fine upstanding citizens, or at least make sure all the beggars and criminals starve themselves out of the picture. There's talk he's going to start rounding people up.”

“Which people?”

“Anyone who looks shifty. The guards know who we all are, don't think they don't, but up until now they'd leave us alone unless we were caught red-handed. That's probably gonna change.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Got plans.” Bryan didn't say any more. They wished him goodbye and headed back up the street. A rat skittered past. Shane looked at it consideringly, then shook his head and moved on. Nicky followed.

They found a place to sleep out of the elements, curled up together, Shane's head rested on his shoulder.

  
  


*

  
  


The fire was hot, almost blue where it licked at Nicky's heels. Smoke hung heavy from the ceiling, blackening the stone walls. He ran. Heard the roar of it, the skitter of claws. The thump of something moving fast, ready to pounce.

The door. Where was the door?

He held tighter to the iron in his hand. The lantern was gone, lost somewhere back there, in the blaze. He coughed, felt along the stones, though there was nowhere to go, trapped against the wall and the creature getting closer.

There was a growl near his ear. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable.

  
  


*

  
  


When he opened his eyes it was dark.

He was alone.

He started, hands automatically feeling for Shane, but there was nothing but the broken barrel they'd been huddled behind, the lonely mist forming when he breathed out the cold. His heart began to beat faster, panic tensing in his throat.

Tried to calm down, rational thought creeping in through the fog of sleep. Probably just gone for a piss, or something. He'd wait.

He waited, ticking off the moments.

Shane didn't come back.

He stood, reached in his pocket. The money was still there. He peered out the end of the alleyway, but it was dark and lonely, and everything was silent.

Shane...

Oh no.

No.

Nicky broke into a run.

  
  


*

  
  


The street was quiet. Definitely a rich area, the streets swept clean and the stench of shit not nearly as thick up here. He could see the turrets of the palace, peering over the keep walls. Crept quietly across the rooftops, watching for guards. Two walked in front of the house he was perched on, talking quietly, their boots hard on the cobbles. Nicky peered over.

That house over there.

He watched. Waited. More sure he'd been wrong, in his panic. Shane was probably looking for him right now, wondering where Nicky had wandered off to. He wouldn't be so stupid as to...

A dark shape wriggled out of an open window on the top floor. Nicky held his breath. Saw the guards start to turn, towards the house. Thinking quickly he grabbed a loose piece of stone from the edge of the roof, yanked it free, and lobbed it as hard as he could in the other direction. It shattered.

The guards paused, peered back the way they'd come, then turned around to investigate the sound.

Nicky let out the breath he'd been holding. Turned back.

Shane had turned to look at the noise too. Nicky gestured, saw his friend nod, then drop to the ground, hand patting his belt to make sure whatever he'd taken was still there. He was good at this, Shane. He'd be fine.

A candle flickered on in the downstairs window, glowing suddenly through the darkness, silhouetting Shane in its light. There was an angry shout.

He broke into a run.

Nicky moved too, clambering across the rooftop, sure he could reach down, yank Shane to safety if he had to, but by the time he cleared the next house it was too late. Shane was struggling, each of his arms held by a soldier, both with steel on their belts.

Nicky shouted, saw them both look up.

Then he leapt.

He landed on one awkwardly, knocking them both to the ground, the wind punched out of him by the road. Shane's knee was up and into the other's groin a moment later. Nicky heard a startled yelp of pain, wriggled free of the man trying to grab him while he struggled to his feet. Shane drew the knife.

“No,” Nicky breathed. But it was too late. Blood jetted onto the stones from the man's cut throat, a hot gush. Shane was staring at his hand like he wasn't sure what he'd done. Nicky grabbed the knife away from him, shoved it deep into his belt.

“I didn't...”

“Run,” Nicky ordered, yanking him into a sprint. They rounded the corner, skidding on the cobbles. Shane was sobbing, gulping out tears with every breath. Nicky yanked him aside, into a doorway. The brothel-keeper looked up in surprise. He realised Shane's shirt was spattered with blood. There was shouting behind them.

“Hey...!” Nicky reached into his pocket.

“Way out.” He tossed the coin, the last of their money. The madam caught it, bit it, then shoved it into her apron.

“Upstairs.”

They went, chasing through the halls, half-dressed girls moving out of their way. Bolted through the window at the end and then they were out, leaping, the river catching them with jolting ice-cold arms.

Nicky broke the surface with a gasp. Shane did too.

“Nicky, I'm sor-”

“I know.” They moved quickly, curled under the bridge. Shane was still crying silently, hand over his mouth and tears mixed with the river-water. Nicky started to shiver. Felt Shane shake against him. “We'll worry about it later.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The cart bumped slowly as it wound its way out of the city.

Nicky was bone-cold. The clothes were starting to dry, but the wind was fierce despite the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Shane was huddled next to him. His eyes were open, but he didn't appear to be looking at anything, was staring into the distance like he could see past it, into something else.

Kian cleared his throat.

“Don't ask,” Nicky murmured. “Not yet.”

“Okay.” He'd looked surprised when they'd dashed up, at just before dawn, asked if there was still room. There wasn't, really. The cart was packed with bundles of wares, including a chicken in a wooden cage that kept cackling inanely at every rough patch. Everything smelled faintly of onions. The knife was still in his belt, hilt pressed hard against his hip.

He'd wiped the blood off it after they'd climbed out of the river, as they'd made their way slowly through the city, creeping past watchmen. It had seemed the whole city was looking for them.

“Well, we can go part of the way on the cart,” Kian explained, “but then the driver turns off. It's about two day's walk from there, unless we can find a ride.” He glanced up to where the driver was sat hunched over the reins, staring disinterestedly at the road. Nicky didn't know how much he could hear and wasn't inclined to say anything incriminating.

Nicky shifted closer to Shane, felt him jolt away, and put an arm around him to hold him still. Kian glanced at him with concern in his eyes but didn't comment.

After a while Kian fell asleep, curled up in a bundle of furs.

Nicky stayed awake, and kept watch.

  
  


*

  
  


They stopped for the night. The driver was a quiet man, barely seemed to acknowledge they were there, though Kian did climb up a few times, speak to him in a hushed voice, nod, and climb back down, so Nicky had to suppose everything was sorted.

They stayed in the barn of a farmhouse on the outskirts of a small village, the three of them huddled in the loft while the driver curled up in the cart once the horse was fed and watered. Nicky doubted they were being looked for this far out, but he still turned his face away when he climbed out so the farmer wouldn't see, not wanting to risk his luck.

“Can I ask now?” Kian whispered. Shane was asleep, but Nicky couldn't find the energy to nod off, felt strung and tired, his back and legs aching from having been cramped in the cart all day.

“He took a job for Bryan.”

“Ah.” Kian's lips thinned. “It went wrong?” Nicky nodded. The knife was bundled up inside his coat, which he was using as a pillow. It was a strange knife, he'd realised when he'd looked at it more closely. The steel was an odd colour, seemed to shift in the light like soap-slick on water, rippling in all directions at once. The handle was black, tiny yellow stones set into the hilt. He wasn't sure what they were, whether they were precious or costume, but they caught the shadows in a way that was hypnotic, blinking like the eyes of a snake.

“Guard caught him. It was an accident, I think, but...” He swallowed hard. “He had a knife.”

“The guard?”

“Shane. He...” There was a lump in his throat. Not for the life of the man. For Shane, who would wonder in his sweetest of hearts about the man's family, who would be broken if he thought a child had been orphaned, left to destitution the same way he had. “It was an accident.”

“Shit,” Kian breathed. Glanced over Nicky's shoulder at Shane, curled up in the corner where the straw was thickest. “No wonder he's been quiet.” He bit his lip, looking thoughtful. “You ever killed anyone?” he asked finally.

“No.” Nicky shook his head. He hadn't. “Broke a lad's arm once in a fight, but never...” He looked at Kian. “You?”

“Yeah.” Nicky blinked in surprise.

“Really?”

“Couple years ago. I was on the road, went to bed with a man for a place to stay the night. He was going too rough, started hitting me when I tried to push him off. I just wanted to make him stop, so I grabbed the candlestick beside the bed. I didn't mean...” He shuddered out a slow breath. “He fell on top of me, shaking all over, and then when he stopped...” A nervous tongue darted out to wet trembling lips. “I dream about it sometimes. There was so much blood.”

“You did what you had to.”

“I know. I just wish...” Kian looked over at Shane again. “I wish I was more sorry, maybe. If I was sorry, maybe I could get forgiveness, but I'm not really. Not the way he'll be sorry. Suppose out of the two of us he'll have more chance of getting into heaven.”

“You believe in heaven?”

“Don't know. If there is one, I doubt any of us'll be seeing it.”

Nicky nodded, not sure what to say. Kian tugged the blanket tighter around his chin.

“I didn't cut him.” It was a soft murmur. They both turned. Nicky realised Shane's eyes were open, looking at them, flat in the moonlight. “I didn't.” His voice cracked. “I... I just swung at him, as a warning.”

“It was an accident,” Nicky agreed.

“No, it...” Shane hesitated. “I wasn't close enough. I'm sure of it.”

“Shay...”

“I didn't kill him.” His eyes darted to Nicky's coat, rolled up under his head. “The knife did.”

He rolled over to face the wall and curled up tighter without another word. Nicky stared at him for a long time, could feel Kian's eyes prickling over his shoulder.

They didn't speak again that night.

  
  


*

  
  


They were all hollow-eyed and yawning when they climbed into the cart the next morning. The driver seemed cheerful enough, of course, but Shane somehow managed to be even more silent than he had been the day before, and where Nicky was used to getting what rest he could in the most uncomfortable of places, that morning he felt like he'd barely slept, felt hollow in his skin.

The small village they pulled into just after midday was settled into the hills in the middle of nowhere, the road winding past it like it barely noticed it was there. The driver was staying here for a few days to barter before going on in the other direction, so they parted ways, Kian tossing him some silver for his troubles, and a little more for some flint, bread and a skin of water for the road.

It was a pretty area. They got on their way quickly enough, headed out of the village and tramping across fields and marshes until they found a back road the innkeeper had been kind enough to suggest. It was narrow, but it followed the river and there was shade. They made their camp that night by the side of a trickling waterfall, Kian collecting firewood and Nicky struggling to light it. Shane disappeared for a while, and Nicky was almost worried, but eventually he came back, a dead rabbit slung under his arm.

They huddled in the warmth while Kian stripped it, gutted it, and got it cooking over the fire. It wasn't raining, for once, which was a blessing. Nicky sat back from it, hands out to catch the heat. He'd always been wary around fire, ever since he'd been small. Not frightened, exactly, but it deserved to be watched, in case it broke free while his back was turned. The flames danced and flickered, cheeky in the darkness.

“Nicky?”

He looked up in surprise. Shane, speaking for the first time since the night before, eyes empty in the shadows. Nicky reached out an arm, closed it once Shane had sidled in, and felt him tremble.

“Shh,” he whispered. Shane sobbed. Nicky kissed his hair, held him tighter against his side. Kian was watching, he could feel it, probably deciding if he should say something or try to comfort Shane. Nicky hoped he wouldn't.

“More rabbit?” he asked instead.

“Shane will.” He'd barely eaten, and Nicky was worried. Reached out to take the piece Kian tore free of what was left. It had been gamey. Stringy where it had gotten caught in his teeth. It was still better than rat.

“I'm not hungry.”

“You'll eat, though,” Nicky said sternly. Shane took the piece reluctantly, then another when Nicky handed him a haunch. He ate it without enthusiasm, jaw moving slowly while he stared into the flames.

Nicky fell asleep as the fire was dying. Shane was out, dozing fitfully beside him. Kian had offered to keep first watch, Shane next, was sat at the edge of the clearing so the fire wouldn't blind him, looking determinedly into the trees. They'd buried the rabbit once it was down to bones, but there were scuffling noises in the woods and no telling who else might be on the road.

He closed his eyes, holding Shane close.

  
  


*

  
  


The stars were bright, despite the smoke. Nicky ran, heard the crackling rumble get closer, the hollow drumroll of heat rushing into a vacuum. The moon was almost purple. He coughed, felt acrid smoke fill his lungs while he stumbled in the darkness.

Dead end. Tears tracked through the soot on his cheeks while he felt along the bricks, pulling his hands back when he realised they were baking, burning his palms. The stars were gone. There was a leathery patter-drag behind him, the click of claws on stone.

He turned, eyes stinging, breath held against the smoke.

The roar made the world crumble.

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky shot awake. Darkness, embers glowing and the roar still ringing in the air, echoing through the hills. He couldn't catch a breath, could still taste smoke at the back of his throat, acid and charred.

Kian was sat bolt upright next to him, Shane stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide and staring around.

“What was that?” Shane whispered. Nicky swallowed. Scrubbed his eyes.

They all jumped when it came again. Jagged, croaking thing riding on top of a thunderous bellow. Like the scream of a wolf in a trap, angry and pained all at once, fighting at something.

“We have to run.” Shane was already panicked. Kian was up on his feet, grabbing him as he went to scoop up his things.

“It's far away.”

“It can't be. It's too loud.” Shane covered his ears as another head-splitting scream broke through the darkness. Kian was right. Nicky couldn't tell which direction it was coming from. It was too big, an echo feeding itself, but further away than it sounded. Miles, maybe. It carved through the air, ripped it apart. Nicky covered his own ears.

The last roar rang away. The silence was deafening, broken only by birds that had flurried in fright beginning to settle.

“Is it over?”

“Not sure.” Kian's arms were both around Shane, holding him in. Shane turned into his shoulder. “What was that? I've never heard anything like it.”

“No, never,” Nicky said quickly. And he supposed he hadn't.

Dreams didn't really count.

  
  


*

  
  


They got on the road early. Nicky had taken watch after he'd been woken, too awake to get back to sleep, though he suspected neither of the others really had. Kian and Shane had curled up under the same blanket together, Kian wrapped around his friend's back and soothing him, though Nicky couldn't find it in himself to be jealous. There'd always been something between them. They joked around, kept a reasonable amount of distance, but Nicky knew Shane had always had a soft spot for that boy, had been downhearted when Kian had gone away last time.

He wasn't sure if anything had ever happened, but he knew Kian's eyes lit up when Shane looked at him, that he was careful around Shane in a way he wasn't with anyone else. That when Nicky held him, comforted him, spoke to him, that Kian always looked like he was struggling to find the words to make Shane smile.

It was sweet. Nicky was glad for them.

The walk was long and unchanging. Nicky knew they had another two days or so ahead of them, so he focused on putting one foot ahead of the other, keeping pace with the other two. Kian managed to catch some lunch, a few lazy fish drifting near the shallows of a small pond they passed. It wasn't much, didn't taste more than passable, but it kept their spirits up and by the time the sun was beginning to curve its way into the west, Kian was playing his lute as he walked, Nicky and Shane singing along to old bawdy standards they all knew, mostly about what the travelling sellsword was doing with the miller's wife.

Shane was laughing when they stopped for the night. They hadn't heard the roar again. They'd discussed it between them that morning, haltingly like they weren't sure how to talk about something that barely seemed real in the light of day. Nicky suspected they'd half-decided it was thunder. A distant, violent storm that had brought trees crashing to the ground. He didn't think any of them believed it.

He took first watch, curled at the edge of the camp. Shane and Kian were snuggled up together again. Nicky heard a soft laugh, then a lower one that sounded almost muffled, and smirked to himself. The sky was muddied with clouds, the moon a pale blot in the east.

His thoughts drifted. He wasn't entirely sure where they were, knew it was a good distance from the city. He wondered what he'd do next. Didn't think he could go back there, and Shane certainly couldn't. It was silly, but maybe he'd had visions of a little farmhouse in the hills, trips into a village where everyone was friendly and he could live a simpler life. It was Shane's dream. He spoke of it sometimes, always in joking tones like he was dismissing it before he could become too attached, and Nicky had always scoffed, said he'd be bored, but maybe boredom wasn't the right word. Maybe it was comfort. Something stable and honest.

He didn't know if that was for him. Didn't know if he deserved it, after everything.

After a while Kian settled down beside him. Nicky was still staring into the woods, listening for movement. There was a rumble of distant thunder. He tried to pretend it was the same noise as the night before, that their explanation made sense, but it was different. Directionless, where last night's roar had been angry and hardened with pain.

“Shane's asleep?”

Kian nodded. Nicky budged over on the rock, let his friend sit beside him.

“He's exhausted.”

“He is,” Nicky agreed. “He gets nightmares sometimes.” They both did, tossing and turning, though Nicky was never sure what Shane's were about. He'd heard him call his mother's name a few times, but Shane never spoke about it, nor about his mother, though Nicky knew she'd died when he'd been young.

“You still have the knife?”

Nicky twitched his coat aside. He'd taken to wearing it on his hip, figured it was decent protection in case he needed it. He hadn't used it, though. Kian had used his own for hunting and cooking. Something about it made him not want to. There was something in the steel he didn't like, something shifting under those bright yellow stones, that soap-slick steel.

“Can I look?”

“Why?”

“Don't know. Just...” Kian glanced back over his shoulder. “After what Shane said. I dunno.”

“Yeah.” Nicky didn't admit he'd been thinking the same. Shane was probably feeling guilty, trying to lay the blame somewhere else, but he'd found himself turning it over in his hands the night before during watch, looking for answers in the rippling blade.

Kian took the knife carefully. Peered at it. The moon was enough to see by, and it glinted off the edge, caught the stones and made them shine. He ran his thumb up the blade. Nicky half expected it to cut, but it didn't. Kian handed it back.

“Looks like a knife to me.”

“Funnily enough.” Nicky sighed. “I know we didn't have much choice, but this journey feels...” He tried to find the words. There was something ominous in it, like every step was leading them into their doom, like nothing good could be found upriver. “Something's wrong. It wasn't thunder last night.” Kian shrugged.

“What was it, then?”

“I don't know.” Slitted blue eyes, the beat of immense wings. “What do you think we're going to find there? Really?”

Kian didn't have an answer for that.

  
  


*

  
  


They made it to a small village before dark fell the following night. The camp was just over the hills, Kian said, only an hour's hike away. They settled for the night in the local stables in exchange for the two rabbits Shane had caught that day. Kian was unsteady around horses, but Shane loved them, was making friends with every hairy, smelly, long-faced pony he could get near. Nicky let him, settled in the straw with Kian while Shane had a one-sided conversation with a mare who was looking at him like he might have a carrot.

The next morning they packed up, begged some breakfast from the pot of rabbit stew simmering in the stablemaster's quarters, and headed on their way. It was a bright day. Nicky stretched in the sunlight, heat filling his bones like warm milk. Kian was humming beside him, glancing about every now and then as if to check they were still on the right trail of the directions one of the stablehands had hastily given them.

The hill crested.

Nicky blinked.

They hadn't been wrong, the rumours. An old tumbledown castle sat in the middle of the valley, its turrets and walls crumbled. One side of the keep was almost completely caved in, the grey stone charred and blackened, as though it had been hit by flaming debris thrown from a trebuchet.

And around it, tents, cookfires, masses of people, in a rough circle that stretched maybe a mile at it's widest. He could see men in armour patrolling the perimeter, the king's flag flying everywhere. He heard Shane suck in a surprised breath, smelled food on the air. On the far side a hunting party was coming back, deer slung over saddles and rabbits hung from pommels. The occasional woman was dotted through the crowd, though from the look of them they were probably locals, taking advantage of the sudden windfall of men, maybe hoping to bag themselves an officer.

“What now?” Shane asked. Nicky had to admit he didn't know.

They edged down the hill, trying to look like they belonged. There were so many people it wasn't difficult, and their ragged. dirty clothes fit in with the fact that most of these men looked like they'd been at camp for months, barely bathing. The smell was horrendous.

Two men were fighting as they went past, apparently over a wager. They took advantage of the distraction to creep past, Nicky sidling up to a man watching disinterestedly, a greasy piece of indiscernably meat held in one hand. Maybe chicken, maybe not.

“What happened?”

“Lad couldn't pay his debt.” The soldier shrugged. He had that look, the one that said this was the first excitement he'd had in days, but couldn't find it in himself to care.

Nicky snorted. Kian and Shane were standing apart, idling near a tent. One unfamiliar face was easy to forget; three might be conspicuous.

“At least it's something to watch.” The man rolled his eyes in agreement. “How long you reckon we've been here now? I've about lost track.”

“Four months?” The fight ended. People began to wander off while the two culprits were led away in opposite directions by their friends. “Something like that, anyway. Probably know better if I was getting some sleep, but...” He trailed off. Nicky nodded.

“I know what you mean. Barely a wink, some nights.”

“Wish they'd calm down whatever they've got in there. Man can't get any shut-eye, that sort of noise.”

“Right,” Nicky chuckled. He hesitated. “What you think it is? I've heard rumours, but...”

“Not my business to know.” He had some idea, though. Nicky could see it in the thoughtful glance he threw towards the castle. “Still, they keep us sitting around here any longer I'll be starting fights meself.” He looked at Nicky. “Have we met?”

“Er... no, don't think so.” Nicky smiled. “Nice meeting you, though.” He trotted off quickly before the man could ask any other question. Kian and Shane met him a few tents away, beside a cookfire. Shane was staring winsomely at a pig turning on a spit.

It wasn't hard to blend in. Kian did what he usually did, which was find someone amenable to a fuck and make a bit of coin, and Nicky and Shane found some battered helmets, enough to look like they belonged there, just part of the rabble. By the time night fell they'd insinuated themselves with some of the lads on the outskirts and were enjoying a hot meal, Kian playing his lute to get a singalong going, until the soldiers were stumbling into their tents, Kian going with one of them with a wink over his shoulder.

Nicky saw the disheartened look on Shane's face and took his hand, beginning to lead him away. They curled up in front of the fire. It wasn't odd. Lots of people were still awake. Place like this, you found sleep when it made sense. He could hear music over there, and on the other side the banging of someone trying to batter a chestplate back into shape.

Shane was silent a long time.

“Nicky,” he said finally. Nicky looked up. He'd been dozing, eyes following the lick of the flames. He didn't know what it was, but the feeling of dread he'd had before on the road was somehow settled. It was silly, but he felt almost like here was where he was supposed to be. There was something about the place, beating like a heart, nestled in the battered stone of the crumbled castle.

“Yes?”

“Kian... erm.” He took in a deep breath. “Does he...” He swallowed. “Does he think I'm crazy?”

“No,” Nicky said quickly. “Course not. Nobody thinks you're crazy.” He put his arm around his friend's shoulder. “Is this about the knife?”

“Yes. And... and other things.” He looked down at his hands, twisting in the flickering shadows. “You know we used to run together when we were kids. He took me in, you know? After my family...” He licked his lips. Nicky didn't interrupt. Shane didn't talk about this, and he wasn't going to put him off. “I've heard that noise before,” he said softly. Nicky blinked. He didn't ask which noise Shane meant.

“Really?”

“We were in bed and... and I heard it, and then... I don't know. I woke up in the pond and everything was gone. The house it...” He swallowed. “They said it was a candle that fell, burned the house down, but it wasn't. My mam... my mam was next to me. The others were in the house. There was nothing left of my sister, not even bones.” He blinked away tears. “I told Kian once that I saw something. He didn't believe me.”

“I believe you,” Nicky promised.

“I was wrong, though. I must have been confused. I couldn't have...” A shuddering exhale pressed into Nicky's shoulder. “It was a candle. It must have been.”

“You're not crazy.” Nicky squeezed him tightly, kissing his hair. “I promise you're not. You were a scared kid.” He knew the feeling too well, fantastical stories that wove through his head, spinning monsters and fairytales, putting eyes in the shadows and shapes in the corners.

“Maybe I did kill him. Maybe it was just easier to think...” Shane trailed off, and when Nicky looked he realised his friend's gaze was directed at the knife on his belt, the one revealed when his coat flopped open. “I don't like it.”

“You stole it.”

“I want to give it back. You shouldn't have it. It's wrong. I can't...” His bottom lip trembled and he turned away to bury his face in his hands. “Fuck, I am crazy.”

“You're not,” Nicky said again. Shane hitched a shoulder. “Sleep, okay? You've had a bad run, and you haven't slept. You've had a good meal, now you just need a rest and it'll be right as rain in the morning.” Neither of them believed it.

He got Shane settled. When Kian came back he was asleep. They both stayed watching over him until late, the fire catching the yellow stones on the knife tucked into Nicky's belt.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Nine days later they were still none the wiser as to why the soldiers were camped here. They blended in quickly. Nicky suspected Kian's intention to sign up was hardly needed. There were people in charge, but otherwise they were left to themselves, a bunch of dirty, tired faces in the crowd. There were patrols, occasionally, and once a hunting group came back missing two members, though that wasn't a mystery once they saw the dead bear dragged behind the party, its monstrous paws wet with blood.

There was food here, and company. Nicky couldn't say it was altogether bad. After a few nights, even Shane began to smile, laughing and jostling with the men who had managed to become their company.

Otherwise, Nicky listened. To conversations, orders, whispers. He began to recognise banners, all the different lords' companies that broke up the camps. Knew where to go for a drink, for a meal. Who to get in with for the good gossip, and to spend a coin at a game of chance; though technically gambling was frowned-upon, it was mostly ignored. The men had to do something to waste their time, and it was better than fighting.

It was boring, mostly. He slept, woke, ate, wandered the camp, slept again. They found themselves a spare tent that had belonged to a man who hadn't come back from hunting, and curled up there together. Sometimes when Nicky would wake in the night he'd hear soft whispers, quiet moans, and would smile and roll over, pretend not to notice. Pretend not to hear what Kian had murmured when Shane was asleep, the heartfelt admission that Nicky suspected Shane would push away, if he heard it. Not because he didn't want it, but because he'd think he didn't deserve it.

The dreams were different. Before they'd been terror, running and gasping in smoke. Now there was something... spilled in them. Off-kilter and disconnected, like half a thought caught by another, flickering in the distance. He'd feel something there, but it wasn't frightening the way it had been. The fear was something else. Exhileration, maybe. Hot on the back of his neck while he tried to look around instead of away.

It was on the tenth night, his friends asleep beside him, when he felt the ground rumble.

His breath stilled. The cackle of voices outside didn't falter, though with all the stomping and banging it had probably not been noticed. He heard a couple of horses whinny in panic, but even that stilled a moment later. Nicky pressed his ear to the earth, through the blanket, wondering if he'd dreamt it.

A flutter, beneath him. Barely a tremor. A quickening in the regular heartbeat of the world.

The roar cracked the sky in half.

Kian and Shane were sat up in a breath, hands over their ears and heads bowed between knees clumsily tangled in the blanket they were sharing. He was sure Shane was screaming, but couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear himself, not over the blind rage of it.

It stopped. Not so much tapering as cut off, a snapping gurgle announcing its end.

Kian's mouth was moving. Nicky realised he couldn't hear the words. Could feel the camp reacting, though, see shadows darting past the tent, feel the rumble of running feet. He peered out.

A horse ran through the tent beside them, the patched fabric catching on its hooves and sending it stumbling. He grabbed the coat of the man going past, saw eyes rolling in terror. The horse was screaming. Smoke in the air and the smell of burning. People were running, a directionless stampede. A man and a girl dashed past, both naked, her clutching her clothes to her bare breasts. Nicky stood, eyes stinging with tears. Officers ordered their men back to their posts. Another man was trying to calm a frightened horse, though it was rearing, trying to bolt like the others. A dog ran away from one of the campfires with a leg of venison dragged awkwardly in drooling jaws.

“Nicky.” It gurgled into his blasted eardrums like a shout underwater. A hand grabbed his shoulder hard. “Nicky.”

“I...” He turned back. Blinked. Column of fire, halfway into the sky. It blinked away, leaving him reeling and blind. Then the roar, still earsplitting but faltering, like something weakening against the fight. He could hear the thud of footsteps, taste metal on the air. Kian's tears were leaving tracks on his cheeks.

“Come on.” He turned. The men were running, but there was nowhere to go, piling up around the edges of camp and walled in by the barricades and spikes meant to keep people out. He could hear screaming.

“Where are we going?”

“Not that way.” They began to run, stepping around debris and collapsed tents. One of the fires had spread, spilled its edges, and the western quarter was becoming a bonfire, men darting like panicked sparrows, trying to put it out. Nicky turned east instead, hoped the others could see him for the smoke.

“We're not going towards the castle?”

“Where else do you want to go, Kian?” Nicky shot back. “No, there's...” He'd found it a few days before, when he'd been wandering the camp. Found it again a minute later. Old, crumbled stables, where the livestock were being kept, open to the sky and the walls solid stone, the earth cleared of leaves. The trough was full. Nicky sucked a handful down, felt the grimy water wash down his scorching throat. Shane just about dunked his whole head into it. It was cooler here. He pulled them to the back. Running feet going past, trampling hooves. They crouched against the wall, out of the way. The animals had gone, the pen gate broken down and splintered on the earth floor

“What now?”

“Wait.” He took Shane's hand, knew the other was grasped in Kian's. “We'll be safe here.”

“Will we?”

“Better than out there.” The sky looked too bright, grey with smoke where it should have been midnight-black, the stars muddied in the swell.

“What happened?” Shane said. “What was it?”

“It definitely wasn't thunder,” Kian breathed. Nicky had to agree.

“No.” He looked up at the boiling sky. “No. Definitely not.”

  
  


*

  
  


They slept, for a while. Nicky didn't know how they managed it. Maybe it was the disorientation, the shock, but eventually they all just kind of shut down, curled in the old stables, the breeze blessedly coming from the east and filling their lungs with clean air, pushing the smoke in the other direction. He couldn't see much, from here, but above him the stars slowly peeked out, twinkling like they'd always done, cold and pale, without much regard for what was going on down here.

He woke to Kian's snoring. Peered into the darkness. Could hear talking, barked orders. Everything sounded calmer, somehow. If Nicky was right they'd be rallying, trying to explain it to themselves while they picked up the pieces, helped the injured and put out the fires and calmed the horses.

The water was still cool when he scooped his hand into the trough. His fingers came back blackened from washing his face. Probably looked a sight. Couldn't do anything about that, but could do something about the pressure in his bladder, so he sidled around to the back of the building, looking for somewhere to piss.

The tree was huge, sprawling skeletal in the darkness. He staggered towards it, already undoing his belt. Put the knife in the crook of a branch so it wouldn't fall out when he dropped trou.

The moonlight caught the stones. They sparkled prettily. He looked back down, checking his aim.

Saw the light catch something in the leaf-bed.

It was metallic, rusted. He kicked out a foot awkwardly, trying to hold his balance with the other and not piss down his own leg. Kicked again, pushing leaves aside, and saw that it was a handle. Saw the line of planked wood spreading out beneath it.

He bent. Pulled on the door. Felt the rattle of rusted hinges, and thought for a moment it was locked. Then, with a groan, it opened. Not much, but enough. He peered into the space, saw blackness, and heard, somewhere, the drip of water.

It shrieked up when he pulled on it properly, then fell backwards, into the leaf-litter. Stone swallowed by shadow, the wooden ladder a brittle tongue into a gaping mouth.

Familiar. Something...

He looked up. Kian and Shane, asleep just up the hill. Could wake them. Show them. Take them...

No.

Something jealous and possessive. Knew, as he knotted his belt and sheathed the knife, that this was for him. That it couldn't be shared.

The rungs were rickety under his hands, prickled with splinters. He wondered how old the trapdoor was. The wood was rotted, the hinges red with rust. Wondered how deep the ladder went.

Not that deep, apparently. His foot stumbled on solid ground not long after, and when he looked up the stars looked close enough to touch, through the square of stone fencing out the sky, echoing the drip of water.

He turned into the darkness, and stepped forward.

  
  


*

  
  


The corridor was long, winding. It felt like hours that he walked, but though Nicky knew he should be frightened, knew there was every chance of getting lost down in the dark and never finding his way out, the knot in his stomach was excitement. He felt the walls, followed them, and though there were corners it never seemed to branch, just wound in a long damp snake, cold under his hands. The dripping was closer.

Then, suddenly, light.

Not much, just a crack, a pinprick in the stone above him, but it fell like a waterfall, cascaded through in a spreading trickle. Black stone. Not enough to peer through, but he could hear muffled voices, see the shadow-flash of people passing above him. A room perhaps. Maybe one of the officer's tents, though part of him knew he'd been walking long enough.

He was beneath the palace.

He paused, drinking in the light as eagerly as he'd gulped down the water from the trough, not wanting to leave it. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but there were two at least, a conversation, the rhythm of it ebbing back and forth above his head.

Morning, by now. He wondered if Shane and Kian had woken. If they'd noticed him missing.

Had to hurry, then. Shane would worry.

He pushed away from the light, eyes blinking spots as they tried to adjust. Darkness again, swallowing him in. The drip was a babble, an underground stream perhaps, or a run-off from the latrines. It smelled clean, though. He breathed in, felt a rush of air, different from the closed-in channel of the tunnel.

Light. A speck of it.

Two. Three. A flutter. One dashed past his face on beating wings and he laughed when he realised it was a lightning bug. It disappeared into the rock. He felt, found a crack, just large enough to push through on hands and knees. Two more scrambling steps and there was a flurry of them, filling the air, twinkling like the stars he'd left behind.

The room was big, dropping below him from the small tunnel he'd emerged from, twenty feet above the ground. A cavern. The walls dripping water, buttressed by tree roots that tendrilled through the earth, rutting the uneven dirt floor. And through it, the water, welled up from somewhere below, moisture dripping from the trailing pieces of fern-frond and rocks down-thrust from the dome of the ceiling.

“Huh.” It came out in a surprised rush. The air was alight with lightning bugs, picking out the shadows and sending the water shivering with starlight.

Movement.

He edged out of the small hole, careful of his footing, and climbed down. Wasn't worried about making it back up again, not after years of scrambling up walls and climbing in windows, wriggling through the smallest spaces. The earth was soft under his feet when he landed, and the lightning bugs darted from his path, spreading in the dark like ripples in a pond.

Movement again.

There. Shifting at the edges. He stilled, breath caught in the tight drum of his chest. Edged closer, and breathed out his surprise when he realised it was a piece of fern swaying slightly. It twitched again. There was a breeze, coming from above. Looked up, expecting a crack in the cave wall, perhaps another way out.

A trapdoor. Like the other. A ladder, this one taller, reaching up to the high ceiling, worn into the rock wall, wooden steps nailed to available outcrops to make scaling it easier.

Nicky began to climb.

  
  


*

  
  


The wood was almost warm, when he lay a hand against it.

It was precarious up here. One foot wedged onto a make-shift stone rung, the other above it on a piece of crumbling plank. He gripped the root above with one hand for balance, hoping it wouldn't pull free, and felt along the edge.

There was light here. A narrow square outline of it.

He pressed.

It creaked open, as easily as the other had, and he was in another stone tunnel, stretching up. A proper ladder this time, though it was as rickety as the first one had been, and some rungs were missing. He climbed hand over hand, bracing himself against the sides to shimmy up past the gaps. When he looked down he couldn't see the bottom, just the dark throat of the empty column.

Up, and up, and up, until he found the top, a narrow space in the wall where it opened out, just enough to rest his feet on the ledge. There was a small door beside him, just large enough to wriggle through . He pushed on the wood, wondering if it would open too.

Locked.

Not like the other, rusted half-shut, but properly locked. He could see the latch when he peered through the sliver of space on the side opposite the hinges, light lancing through.

Right.

Pulled the knife from his belt. Would have to move fast. It was light up there, but there was no movement on the other side, nothing to suggest there were witnesses, and he'd come so far it seemed unthinkable to go back now.

Slid the knife into the space and lifted. Had done this before, a hundred times.

Click of the latch.

He shoved the knife back. Tried not to look down.

The door opened on its own, with an oily creak.

  
  


*

  
  


“Erm.” Nicky stared. The boy stared back. Hard to pick out, in the sudden square of bright light after hours in the darkness, but he could see dark hair flopping around a narrow face and rounded chin, broad shoulders, rest of him hidden by a loose white shirt that hung around the tops of thighs clad in black.

His face was the picture of surprise.

Nicky's mouth hung on words he couldn't find.

“Who...” the boy started. Then he rallied himself, turned away, mouth opening like he was about to cry for help.

“Don't!” Nicky blurted. It came out a croak. The boy hesitated. “Don't. I'm sorry. I got lost and...” He glanced back down, at the darkness below. “I'll go. I didn't mean...”

His foot slipped.

Sickening stomach drop, both hands flailing. Heart lodged in his windpipe. His life didn't flash before his eyes, like they said it did. Instead it was just white panic, and maybe a moment to hope that Shane would be alright, that Kian would take ca...

“Whoa.” Hand caught in his shirt collar. He grabbed the wrist attached to it out of reflex, felt his feet skitter on stone. “Got you.” The boy looked over his shoulder again, face a moment of indecision. Nicky saw it. Pull up the intruding stranger, or fling him backwards to his death. He clung to the wrist, sure either way that he wasn't going to be letting go.

“Please,” he whispered.

Tendons corded on a strong wrist as the boy began to pull him up.

  
  


*

  
  


“Who are you?” It was a demand. One that sounded a bit unsure, but definitely a demand. Nicky looked up. Slumped on the floor, still trying to slow his racing heart. The boy was holding a silver candlestick, must have grabbed it after he'd let go of Nicky. It looked heavy, was shifting in his hand where he was holding it over one shoulder, obviously trying to look menacing.

“I'm sorry.” It trembled out of his throat, ribboned through by adrenaline. He put a hand over his chest, felt the thud beneath his ribcage. “I was just... I was on the outskirts and I saw a door and... I'm sorry. There was a tunnel and I got curious. I didn't know...” He glanced around the room. It was beautiful. Huge soft bed curtained in with lace, wooden dressers. Gilding on fucking everything. “I didn't know. I found the cave and I saw the ladder so...”

The candlestick dipped slightly, the boy's arm sagging. His gaze was blue, shifting and expressive. Nicky was sure, suddenly, that he was the sort whose mouth could lie, but eyes couldn't keep up the bluff.

“You came in? From outside?” He bit his lip, eyes narrowing. “There's a way out?”

“There's a way in, so I assume...” Nicky heard his own laugh, slightly hysterical. “I didn't know this was where it went. Honestly.”

“You've not...” Something almost hopeful went out in the boy's eyes. “You've not come for me, then.”

“Er...” Nicky looked up. “Was... I supposed to?”

“No. I mean... no. I guess not.” The candlestick went back on the table. “They said someone might try. To kill me. Or... take me. But...” He glanced towards the window. It was small, set high enough that Nicky couldn't see out.

“Who are you that you're worth taking?”

“Wish I knew,” the boy mumbled. He peered back at Nicky from under lowered lashes, eyes almost shy now. Nicky smiled. He was very sweet. “Sorry. You can get up if you want.”

Nicky did, pushing slowly to his feet.

“I'm erm... I'm Mark, by the way.” A hand stretched out. Nicky took it carefully, sure this was the strangest morning he'd ever had. Still, an adventure was an adventure, and there wasn't much else to do.

“Nicky.”

  
  


*

  
  


The room really was beautiful. It was early, not long past dawn, and the light was falling through the window, a flood of pastels and shadow. Nicky could see out if it, if he stretched onto his toes. Mark stood beside him, looking out.

“You came from the camp?”

“In a roundabout way,” Nicky snorted. Mark looked at him curiously. “I've only been here a week or so. Came over from the city.”

“Really?” Beautiful blue eyes widened. “Is it really as big as they say?”

“It's certainly something.” Nicky breathed out slowly. The smoke was thick in the air, though he couldn't see any runaway blazes any more, just the dotted flares of campfires. He could hear shouting, see the men putting their camps back together, though they were far down below and over the keep, so he couldn't separate faces. They looked like ants, rebuilding a hill after the rain. He wondered where Shane was. Probably helping with the horses, if he was any judge, though maybe looking for Nicky instead while Kian tried to calm him down.

“They say it's full of sin and erm... villainy.” He didn't sound too sure of that, like he was reciting it back.

“No more than anywhere else.” Nicky pushed away from the window. The sun was too bright, hurting his eyes and leaving spots when he blinked.

“Is that why you left?”

“Could say that.” He sat down on a handy footstool, felt a bit bad about putting his grimy arse on expensive fabric. “Mind if I...?” Mark shook his head. The first shoe came off. His foot was white, wrinkled from being trapped inside for days on end. Above the ankle his leg was black. He'd need a wash soon, had probably looked a fright, this grimy, sooty thing peering out of a tunnel.

Mark had already covered it back over with the drapes running one length of the room. Nicky suspected he hadn't known it was even there until he'd heard Nicky scraping in the walls and gone to investigate.

“You're filthy.”

“Thanks.” Nicky sighed. Mark shrugged.

“Do you... want a bath, maybe?”

“Er...” A bath? He'd not had one of those since he was young. Usually it was just good enough to stand outside when it rained.

“I can have one drawn. If you like.” He glanced around. “Do you want food?”

Nicky swallowed around a suddenly wet mouth. “What kind of food?”

  
  


*

  
  


He hid under the bed. Nicky didn't know what Mark was, exactly. A lord, maybe, or a prince, but all he had to do was ring a little bell at the door and suddenly things were being done. Two maids came in to fill the bath.

It was odd. They didn't speak to him. Didn't seem to even acknowledge him, even when he tried to talk to them. He seemed a sweet boy, was trying to joke along or ask about their morning, but they ignored him entirely, just nodded when he said what he wanted and set about their business. Maybe it was orders, in case they said something stupid to the rich folk, but it was unnerving regardless. Nicky wondered if he should have bowed, and then figured if he still had his head he was probably alright.

The water was hot. Mark turned his back as he stripped and climbed in, and when he turned back around he was blushing. The water was filthy already, months of caked muck beginning it's bubbling ascent to the surface. Mark sat down on a stool in the corner.

“It's not too hot?”

“It's amazing,” Nicky groaned. He went under to let it envelop him. It had never been like this. Usually him sat in a tin basin in the yard, the water half-warm from the kettle while his mother scrubbed lye soap into his hair. This was like being weightless, the heat trickling into his joints. He came up, slicking his hair back from his face with both hands.

Mark was laughing.

“What?”

“Nothing, just...” He smirked. “I don't think I've ever seen anyone enjoy a bath that much.”

“Oh.” Nicky looked away. “Well, you're probably used to 'em, then.” He peered over the edge. “What are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, you've got a bath and a nice room and that.” Okay, the castle was a bit shit, but there was no shortage of men defending it. He wondered if it was for this boy, if this was who they'd been guarding. “You a lord?”

“Not really. No.” Mark scratched his hair. “I'm erm...” He shrugged. “What are you, then?”

“Er...” A common thief was probably not the best thing to go with. Nor a soldier. Nicky, suddenly, wasn't sure what he was. Realised he hadn't been sure in a long time, not since he'd waved his family goodbye from the back of a blacksmith's cart. “I trained as a blacksmith.”

“You're a blacksmith?”

“No,” Nicky admitted. “Wasn't very good, in fairness. I could hammer out a quality horseshoe, no problem, and a couple of rough daggers if I had to, but no.”

“Did you make that one?” Mark gestured to the pile of clothes, the knife sat on top.

“No.” Nicky snorted. “No, not that good.” He wasn't sure how it had been made, honestly.  Useless blacksmith he may have been, but he'd seen enough to know what steel looked like, and this didn't appear to be folded or tempered in any way he could recognise.  He stretched, felt the warm water flood into every crack and line of him, flushing out all the filth. The water was going brown. “You didn't answer my question.”

“You didn't really answer mine,” Mark pointed out.

“I did.”

“You didn't. You just said what you trained as, not what you are now.”

“It's not that easy to answer.”

“Neither's mine, then,” Mark replied. He folded his hands in his lap. Nicky raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, figuring it was none of his business to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not one who was supplying a good hot bath. “They took me,” he said suddenly. His eyes flicked towards the window. “I don't even know where I am. We rode for days.”

“You're a prisoner?”

“No. Or... no. I'm a ward, I suppose. My parents said they'd send me off, when I was old enough. We're not poor, and there are always lords who will take on extra help, train them to squire. I didn't want much to do with knighting, but there are libraries in some of the bigger houses...” He shrugged. “I was too old, I thought, but then a man came in the night, five years ago, said he was looking for a boy. Promised I'd never want for anything, and I haven't, but...” He gestured around at the room. “It's supposed to be luxury.”

“I'd say it's pretty luxurious.”

“Everything gold turns to tin when you look at it long enough,” Mark murmured. “The room before this was the same. Pretty, but nobody would talk to me. Nobody does talk to me. We were attacked. Half the house was destroyed, and by morning I was in a wagon headed west. Now I'm here.”

“I promise it's not all good out there,” Nicky said. Mark looked up.

“No. Probably not.” He smiled thinly. “Suppose I should be grateful.”

“Suppose you should.” Nicky began to push himself out of the bath. Mark turned away, cheeks going red. Nicky reached for a towel to dry himself. His clothes were still puddled in the corner. He began to pull them on. They felt sticky and rough on his clean skin. He was paler than he'd expected, and a quick glance in the mirror proved that his hair was an ashy blonde rather than the dulled ochre it usually looked. It was a tangled mess.

“Nicky?”

“Yeah.” He turned. Mark looked away again. It was cute.

“Would you like me to call for breakfast?”

  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

Nicky slid through the door just before midday. It was odd, that feeling, descending down into the dark while Mark peered down at him. He got a tentative smile.

“Be careful.”

“I will.” Mark looked almost sad. It had been a nice enough morning, if odd. Nicky had hid again while a maid had come with breakfast. The smell had been amazing. It had been almost impossible not to leap from his hiding place and been devouring it before she could leave, though he'd managed to wait. Had sat beside Mark at the small table in the corner and polished off sausages, eggs, crusty bread with gravy, an apple, and half a jug of cold milk. Now he felt almost sleepy, his stomach weighing him down while he felt for the hand-holds.

They'd talked a little. Or Mark had. Had looked almost starved for it, though Nicky hadn't known what to say in reply.

“Will you come back? I'll...” Mark was chewing his lip, looked almost shy. “I'll make sure there's food.”

Nicky hesitated on the ladder.

“I'll try,” he promised. “Tomorrow night?”

“Not at night,” Mark said quickly. “They give me something to sleep, at night. I can't...” He crouched down. “Come in the mornings. Then you can stay all day.”

Nicky agreed that that sounded good. He made it to the ground, Mark holding the door open to give him enough light to see by. Then, with a wave, he was gone, the darkness closing in around him.

The crack wasn't too hard to find, now that he knew where it was. He shimmied up a tree-root, pushed aside some leaves, and then he was in, struggling on hands and knees through the dark, the smell of earth filling in around him like a grave.

The sky was huge when he pushed open the door at the other end. He breathed a sigh of relief. Out of the cold stone corridors and endless darkness. The grass was soft under his hands while he clambered out of the hole. Pushed the door shut and kicked leaves over it.

Then he began to climb the hill, headed back to camp.

  
  


*

  
  


“Nicky...!”

Shane was in his arms before Nicky had a chance to say hello. Nicky laughed, the breath pushed out of him, and hugged him tight, felt kisses pepper his neck as he was breathed in.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“I was so worried.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” He pulled back, holding his friend at arm's length. Kian was ambling over, a hammer in one hand from where he'd obviously been trying to re-peg the tent.

“Where have you been?”

“Got lost,” Nicky said quickly. Shane was looking at him now, his relief resolving itself into something slightly more curious.

“You smell weird. And your hair's combed.” It was. Mark had pulled one from the dresser drawer and carefully helped him untangle the knots. It had been odd, snarling in pain with every snag, but nice, in a way. The boy sat behind him, breath brushing his nape when Mark would lean in close. He was warm, smelled good in a way that was probably regular bathing and good health, but it had feel comfortable, laughing when Mark had joked about finding a bird nesting in the back.

“Yeah. Well,” Nicky started. Kian was appraising him too. “Odd story, right? I thought I saw something last night, just meant to go have a look. Suddenly I'm turned around in the woods, so I kept walking, trying to find the way out, and suddenly there's this house. Nice old woman, took a shine to me.”

“And gave you a bath?” Kian raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Helped her do a couple of chores and she showed me the way back. Got a feed out of it and all.”

“Lucky you.” They didn't look like they quite believed it. Nicky didn't care. “Might have to show us, then. I'll chop wood for a bath and meal.”

“Definitely.” He wouldn't. Or at least he'd try, get hopelessly lost, and then admit defeat if they pushed him on it, say he must have been turned around and maybe they could try a little more to the south. They'd give up, eventually, get bored. And there was no way Nicky was telling them about Mark.

He wasn't sure why not. They were his friends, Shane especially. He told them everything. But there'd been something odd there, something he couldn't quite explain to himself, and didn't know how to start explaining to them.

He settled back into camp. It was a mess. The list of dead was growing, most in the stampede, but some in the fires, though there were one or two who had been caught trying to loot the officer's quarters in the confusion and had been executed that morning. There were injuries as well, dozens of them, and the camp physicians were seeing as many as they could, plugging wounds, sawing off limbs and making the end calm for the ones that couldn't be helped.

Nobody appeared to have any answers, but morale was getting worse by the next day's dawn. A couple of deserters had been run down in the night. There was mutiny bubbling in the crowd of hurt and tired men. Kian had helped the nurses 'til early, come back bloodied and faint. Shane went out with a party intending to round up the escaped horses and livestock.

Nicky helped as best he could. Until evening he cleared mess, helped gather belongings to send to unsuspecting widows. It felt personal, almost, cleaning the soot from a charred locket with a twist of a child's hair inside. He could read and write, a little, so he did what he could to get things to their rightful owners, making enquiries about fallen comrades and comforting friends.

The night was long. By morning there had been more deserters.

Nicky was sat on the top of the hill as dawn broke, looking up at a high window. He wondered if Mark was asleep. Wondered if he knew what it was like down here, in the ashes.

He headed for the tree behind the stables, glancing over his shoulder with every step.

  
  


*

  
  


The journey through the dark was easier this time. He moved quickly, more sure of the way, and by the time he wriggled through into a cavern dotted with light he thought he was learning the twists and turns of it, knotted into the darkness like the guts of some gigantic creature swallowing him down into its stomach.

He rapped. The door lifted, and there Mark was, smiling hesitantly down at him.

“Breakfast?”

It came while he hid under the bed. Mark picked at it, though Nicky supposed he didn't need the energy overmuch, not when he was spending all his time locked in a little room without any exercise. He wasn't fat, but he looked soft, and Nicky felt like a stick next to him, shoving pieces of meat and potato into his mouth while Mark nibbled at fruit.

“Do you mind if I take some back?” Nicky asked. Mark looked up, peach juice dribbling down his chin.

“If you like. I never eat it all, anyway.” Nicky squirmed in his seat. All this food, probably thrown out, and down there the men were fighting over scraps. The idea of not finishing every mouthful made him angry, somehow, or maybe it was the careless way Mark had said it. “What?”

“Nothing. Just.” He looked down at his plate. “I've been starving a long time, and you just...” He tried to stop a scowl spreading over his face. Mark was looking worried.

“I didn't mean... They just bring it. I don't ask...”

“No.” He probably didn't. Didn't think to. Sat in the pretty room in his high tower, looking down.

“You can take as much as you want. Honestly. I don't know what's happening in the kitchens, but every time I ask there's always food, so I'm sure there must be enough to...” He trailed off. Nicky realised he was glaring. “Are... you angry?”

“It doesn't matter.” He looked down at his plate. Cleaned twice, the grease sopped up with bread. He should be grateful, probably. For a hot meal after he'd spent two days trying to get keepsakes back to grieving families, their loved ones lost for a cause so pointless none of them knew what it was. “Twenty-seven people have died in the last three days.” He stood, went to the window. Ants. Scurrying about. Mark came to stand beside him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Twenty-seven people,” Nicky said again. “Men and women, all here to protect...” He looked around at the pretty room again. “I don't know,” he breathed. Didn't know why he was taking it so personally, a common thief on the run who'd been here less than a fortnight. “Is it you? Are you why we're here?”

“I don't know,” Mark admitted. “No. Probably not.” He exhaled slowly, sank down on the bed. “I don't know. There's a man who comes, every few weeks. I don't know who he is, just that...” His voice caught in a croak. “I miss my mam,” he whispered. “They won't tell me, and it's been so long and I'm bored and frightened and I don't...” He drew his knees to his chest. “You're the first person who's talked to me in so long and you're angry with me and I don't know what I did. What I'm supposed to do...” He closed his eyes. “I didn't want any of this.”

Nicky bit his lip, felt the directionless frustration recede, ache into a cold stone at the bottom of his heart.

Mark's hair was soft when he ran a hand through it. Didn't know what he was doing, except it always comforted Shane. Pressed his lips to a wrinkled forehead. Mark looked up in surprise.

“I'm sorry,” Nicky murmured, saw blue eyes brimmed with tears. He collected Mark in a hug, felt arms cling to him. “It's not your fault.” Mark shrugged into his shoulder.

“What if it is?”

Nicky pursed his lips, not sure of the answer.

  
  


*

  
  


They sat together most of the day. They were only interrupted once, when a maid come with lunch, but apart from that nobody seemed to care that Mark was here. It was strange, for someone in a room like this to be mostly ignored. He couldn't see much, peering out from under the bed, but he saw the way Mark watched the girl as she set the tray down, like he wanted to say something but knew she wouldn't reply. Her footsteps were clipped and determined, and she was gone as soon as the job was done. His face fell. Nicky crawled out after the door was closed.

Mark was right. It was boring up here. Nicky didn't know how he stood it, all day, every day. It was alright with company, but there was nothing really to pass the time except for a stack of books on the side-table that looked well-read.

“What's it like out there?”

It was getting into the afternoon when Mark asked. Nicky was sat on the bed. It was unnervingly soft. He wanted to doze in it, but knew he had to be going soon, and the food and bath was enough luxury. He didn't know that he deserved any more than that.

“Out where?”

“Out...” Mark gestured at the window. The mattress heaved as he sat down. Nicky sidled away to give him space.

“At camp? It's rough,” Nicky admitted. “More often than not you're hungry and wet, and when you're not you're trying your best to keep from being hungry and wet.” He looked at Mark, saw earnest blue eyes that watched him curiously. “Everything smells. Mud, the latrines, the horses. Blood.”

“Oh.” Mark nodded. “Sorry.”

“You get used to it.”

“I suppose you do.” He looked like he was mulling it over. Nicky wondered if he'd ever been properly hungry in his life, properly wet and dirty and knowing there was no hot bath or warm fire at the end of it. “I hear things sometimes. Music, and...” He gave Nicky a nervous smile. “I always liked music.”

“Me too.” Nicky smiled back. “My friend Kian, he can play. And Shane, he's got a voice like a lark. We sang on the road, sometimes, to pass the time.”

“What did you sing?” Blue eyes widened.

“Just... tavern songs, mostly, the ones we knew the words to.” Mark tilted his head. “You know. The ones about fingering the farmer's daughter, or the lad with a cock as big as your arm...” He realised Mark was going red, and stifled a laugh. “Why? What songs do you know?”

“Er... not those.” He was scarlet, bless him. Nicky almost wanted to pat his head. Shane sometimes got the same look when it took him a minute to get a joke, then fell about laughing long after everyone else had stopped. Mark covered a giggle with one hand. Nicky grinned back. “I know the one about the knight rescuing the princes from the tower. Or the one with the girl who turned into a bird after her husband was lost at sea, and flew the world searching for him.”

“Any shagging in those?”

“No. Not really. They're not meant to be, like... funny.” He was still blushing. “They're adventures. Romantic. You know.”

“Sounds like something rich folk have time for,” Nicky pointed out. Oh, there'd been a couple of boys he'd fancied, but favours and bouquets were for people who didn't worry about where their next meal was coming from. A fuck was reliable, at least.

“You've never been in love?”

“Have you?” Mark shrugged, looked away.

“I erm...” He smiled shyly. “No. It sounds nice, though. Having someone.” He looked around the little room. “Not much chance of that here. My parents tried to make me a match when I was younger, but nobody ever...” His hand touched Nicky's gently. Nicky didn't pull away. This all sounded mad, but it seemed important to Mark. “I think I'm going to die in this room.”

“You're a cheerful one, you are,” Nicky teased. Mark snorted, looking away. Nicky wrapped his hand through long fingers, felt them curl into his grip. “You ever think about running away?”

“Where would I go?”

“Fair point.” The lad wasn't cut out for scraping by, definitely not. You built a tolerance to that, over time. To disappointment and the curving claw of hunger in your stomach. He glanced towards the window. “I'd better get on my way.”

“I wish you could stay,” Mark murmured. Nicky stood, not sure what to say to that. Sure nobody had ever said it before, like he was wanted longer. The hand fell from his. A furtive smile darted up at him. “Take whatever you like. Honestly. Food, or...” He went to the dresser, rummaged for a moment. “You could sell this, if you want.” He picked up a silver candlestick. The same one he'd threatened Nicky with on his first visit, if he was any judge. “They won't notice it gone. Nobody ever comes in here, so maybe...” He held it out. “Take it.”

“I can't.” He couldn't. Not because he didn't want to, but because there was no way to explain it, showing up suddenly with something that big and expensive, no way to move it on without leaving camp.

He supposed he could leave camp. Take the candlestick, take Shane and Kian, and get on the road again, sell it on in the next town. And then what? Eventually the money would dwindle, and they'd be back where they started again, a county over and as penniless as before.

Mark looked so hopeful. Sweetness without understanding.

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure,” Nicky decided, already berating himself for what was obviously madness. “I'll take some food, though.” He reached for what was left of lunch. It was getting late. He gathered a few apples and some cold meats in the table-cloth and bundled it into his shirt. It was lumpy against his chest, but that didn't matter. Mark put the candlestick back.

He crept down the ladder, into the darkness. When he looked up Mark was peering down, a black silhouette against the light.

He waved. Nicky waved back.

“Bye, Nicky.”

“Bye, Mark,” Nicky murmured.

The door closed.

  
  


*

  
  


After that disastrous night, Nicky was sure things would reach a breaking point. It certainly seemed like it for a few weeks. There were more deserters, and illness swept through the camp in the form of bloody flux, not a surprise in the filthy conditions and with the mostly constant rain. Some nights were so cold they could barely move, as winter came closer and frost settled on the grass each morning. There was no roar, not again. Instead, the complaints of men stumbling towards the latrine trenches, or curled in their bedrolls, physicians attending where they could. Soiled clothes were burned, infected bodies as well. Kian seemed to have a touch of it, but the symptoms had cleared up by the next evening so they put it down to eating spoiled meat and counted themselves lucky.

But, after almost a month, the sickness ebbed away, the hunting parties finally had a few good days, and it seemed morale was returning. More soldiers came to replace the missing or dead, and for a while their cheerful, curious faces were enough to make people forget what they'd lost, how hard it had been. There was music again, and hot stews in the cook-pots dotted around the camp.

He visited Mark where he could. He was a kind lad, Nicky was beginning to realise. Sheltered, though not entirely of his own choice. He always wanted to know. Wanted stories of things Nicky had seen, and people he'd met. Would listen, chin rested in his hands and eyes wide while Nicky spun the story of the time he'd seen a theatre troupe go by, men on stilts so tall they looked over the houses, and jugglers tossing lit torches from hand to hand.

Nicky liked being with him. Liked the way Mark looked at him, when he opened the door and saw Nicky there, his whole face lit up like a candle in a still room.

They were laid on the floor, looking up at the high ceiling on a last warm day before the cold snaps. It was beautiful, a dome painted white and gold, capturing light it in the little room and making it bigger, somehow.

“What are your parents like?” Mark asked suddenly. Nicky looked over in surprise. They hadn't talked in a while. Didn't need to, necessarily. With Mark it was nice to just be. Out there everything was noisy all the time. In here it was enough to breathe.

“I haven't seen them in a long time.”

“Where are they?” Mark was still looking up at the ceiling.

“Not sure,” Nicky admitted. “I left when I was small. Be fifteen years now.” He folded both arms behind his head, stretched slightly on the soft rug. “We had a little land, though it was worthless. Dad did odd jobs mostly. Helped with building in the village, or fixing broken things. Mam did laundry and cooking for folks who needed it, though she was never paid much. We scraped by.”

“You were an only child?”

“No. My sister was older. Then my little brother. He was a surprise. A blessing and a curse, my mam used to say, though she said that about all three of us when we were trying her temper.” He closed his eyes. “They sent me to the city when I was ten, to apprentice. It was for the best. They couldn't afford to feed all three of us. Couldn't afford to feed two, come to that. We butchered the last of our cows the week before they sent me away.”

“You ever tried to go back?”

“Wouldn't know where to start. I was small, and I slept most of the journey. I just know it was north of the city, somewhere, but we were three days by cart. I never knew the name of the closest village, and it was never that close to start with.”

“Oh.” Mark hesitated. “Do you miss them?”

“Yes. No.” Nicky shrugged. “At first, yes. I cried every night for weeks, but then I got used to it. I suppose I let them go. If they're alive, I'll never know, so it's easier to think of them as dead. I grieved for them, I buried them, and I moved on.”

“That's sad.”

“Is it?” He opened his eyes to look at the boy beside him. “What about your family?”

“We lived in a big house. My mam and dad and brothers.” He smiled. “It was nice. Everything always smelled good, like baking pies, and you could get lost in the woods. And there were so many books.” A sigh drifted up, somewhere between fond and melancholy.

“What was it like, to have everything?” He didn't mean to sound acid, but it was hard to avoid it. Mark shrugged, cheeks colouring slightly.

“I didn't know I did. It seems silly, now. I'd fight with my brothers over stupid things. I wish I hadn't. I wish I'd told them how much I love them, every moment of every day.” His voice cracked. Nicky took his hand, felt it clench in his grip. “I'll never see them again.”

“You will. Course you will.” Nicky squeezed his hand. “You know where they are, right? One step better than me.”

“It doesn't matter. They sent me away. Even if I escape, even if I make it back, they'll send me right back here again. They'll call the man with the black gloves and...” His eyes pinched shut. “No.”

“Who's the man with the black gloves?”

“He's... just a man. He took me, then. Put me in the room. He doesn't come often, just sometimes.”

“What does he do?”

“Nothing. Not really. He talks to me, mostly. Asks odd questions. Though sometimes he gets angry.”

“Does he hurt you?”

“Sometimes,” Mark mumbled. Nicky ran a thumb over the back of his hand, felt corded tendons beneath the skin. “When he loses his temper, or I don't say what he wants.”

“What does he want you to say?”

“I don't know.” A tear spilled out the side, tracking down a pale cheek. “Nicky?”

“Yes?”

“Will you stay with me? Just until dark?”

Nicky agreed that he would.

  
  


 


	6. Chapter 6

If the others noticed him going missing, they didn't say. Nicky half suspected they thought he'd found a fuck somewhere, if the smirk Shane kept tossing his way was any indication, and he was willing to let the idea run. They were busy enough with each other, were probably glad for the privacy, so it benefited all of them. They didn't talk about what they were doing here, if they were going to move on. There didn't seem to be anywhere else to go, and at least here there was food, somewhere to sleep, and company besides.

He snuck them food, didn't tell them where it had come from, except that he knew a man, all very hush hush. They probably thought that was part of where he was disappearing to, bending over for one of the higher-ups, but they didn't comment. All of them had done much worse, and it was hard to complain with food in your mouth.

It was cold. The snow started, painting the the hills and the tips of the trees so they looked like green quills dipped in white ink. Mark offered a spare comforter from his bed, but Nicky had to decline. It was beautiful, deep red with gold stitching, but that was the problem. A few morsels of food would go unnoticed, but something that conspicuous would be questioned. At best there'd be a fight over it. At worst he'd be accused of stealing.

They huddled together for warmth, squashed in the little tent. He was used to the cold, but it never made it any easier. Shane cuddled to his chest, Kian on the other side, an arm tossed across to hold them all together. Nicky had managed to trade an apple for a blanket, though it was thread-bare. They slept in their clothes. His feet had blisters from his shoes.

He was wandering back from the latrines one morning when he heard the horses.

On the road. He turned to look, thinking it was early for a hunting party. Instead it was a carriage, drawn by two beautiful black mares. It flashed past, but not before Nicky saw the king's standard, painted on the doors in gold.

It was through camp and up to the castle before he made it back to the others. People looked confused, not sure if they should be bowing or not. A few awkwardly took off their hats and put them back on again after it became apparent that nobody was looking. The drawbridge lowered, the carriage crossed, and then it was gone, the chains clanking as the bridge was pulled back up again.

“What was all that about?” Kian asked.

Nicky had to admit he wasn't sure.

  
  


*

  
  


They didn't see the horses leave. That night there was a roar, the first one in almost two months since the madness of that horrible night. The next night there was another. Nicky stayed in camp, looking up, but there was no light in Mark's window, no sign of what was going on. There were rumbles of panic, but the columns of fire, the shaking ground, were blessedly absent.

Sleep came badly, with all the noise, but by morning the old hands had gotten on with it despite the breathless questions of the new recruits.

Nicky kissed Shane's cheek and crept from his bed just after dawn. Down the hole, through the tunnel, and finally through the crack in the wall, edging through on his stomach and brushing interrupted insects away from his face.

He clambered up the ladder. Rapped on the door. Rapped again.

He pulled the knife from his belt, levered up the latch. A quick glance proved there were no intruders, nobody to catch him, so he clambered in, wondering if Mark was still asleep.

There was a lump in the bed, tangled in the blankets. He peeled the edge of the comforter back. Hissed in surprise.

“Go away,” Mark breathed. Nicky sank to his knees, looking at him. Blackened eye, almost shut, three scratches up his jaw in ragged furrows that looked like claw-marks

“What happened?”

“Go away.” Turned his face into the pillow with a sob. “Please go away.”

Nicky hesitated. None of his business, probably. If Mark wanted to be by himself, that was up to him, but he was hurt, and Nicky couldn't just leave him like that. Didn't want to leave him.

He sank down beside the bed, shoulders leaned back against the frame, legs crossed on the floor. Sat there for a long moment while Mark sucked in harsh, broken breaths that sounded like they were trying to cork the tears inside.

“So you've really read all those books, huh?” Nicky said finally. Heard Mark's breath hitch in surprise.

“What?”

“All those books.” He gestured to the ones piled up in the corner. There were more under the bed. He'd seen them when he'd been hiding. Thick things too, the binding starting to get ragged around yellowed pages. “You've read all of them?”

“Most of them.” He heard the sheets rustle, knew without looking that Mark was peeking out at him. Didn't look back. “Why?”

“Just wondering.” He tilted his head back against the mattress. “I've never read a whole book.”

“Really?”

“No. I've seen them. In the church they'd have the bible, and my mam had this thing when we were small, with recipes and things. It wasn't proper, like these, it was just for at home. Her mam had it, and her mam before her. There were drawings of herbs and animals, and how to make medicines. That sort of thing.”

“Like a digest?”

“Something like that.” It had just been The Book, lived above the mantel. They'd always been told to take care with it. His mam had often had it out, had taught him his letters while he'd sat on her knee, looking at crude sketches of birds and insects. She'd added to it, over time. Put in new pages or made notes on the old ones. It would go to his sister, eventually. “There was a picture in the back, of where all the stars were at different times of year. I liked it.”

“I think I have...” When he looked up Mark was biting his lip, his gaze cast about the room like a clumsily thrown net. A hand came out of the blankets. Nicky was surprised to see fingernails blackened with dirt. “Over there.” He pointed. “That stack, the one with the red ribbon. Grab it for me?”

Nicky did, after a moment's shuffling through the pile. He brought it back over, sat down on the bed. Mark heaved himself up with a groan and took the book from him. It was heavy, the spine creaking while he turned brittle pages, shaking the sleeves of his nightshirt down so they didn't get in the way.

“Here.” He turned the book back around triumphantly.

Nicky's mouth dropped open. This wasn't like the sketch in the back of The Book, messy black dots with scribbled notation. Stars dotted over the page, lines and arrows connecting them, the moon almost glowing off the paper. And around them, figures and shapes. A winged silver horse. A great ox.

“What's...” His finger traced over the shape of a man with a sword, a screaming head clutched in one hand, wriggling with snakes instead of hair.

“That's Perseus.” Mark pointed. “This is his wife, Andromeda.” The woman next to him, chains on her wrists. “He saved her from a sea monster.”

“They live up there?” He cast a nervous look at the window.

“No. Well... not really. They're old stories, and people think they can see their shapes in the stars. There's lots of them.” He turned the page. “At different times of the year, too. This is Gwyn and Gwyrthur, fighting over the woman they both love. This is Bootes the herdsman. And this is Bran's Raven. Bran was killed by a poisoned arrow, and his soul became a bird.”

“Lucky him.” Nicky's finger traced over the picture. “Is that what happens, you think?”

“When we die?” Mark shrugged. “Not sure, really. People say there's a heaven, but...” He handed over the book, smiling when Nicky began to flick carefully through the pages. “I like the idea. Flying forever, seeing the whole world whenever you want. Nobody to hold you down or...” He looked at Nicky shyly. “You can have the book, if you like. I've read it so many times I could probably recite it. It's one of my favourites.”

“You should keep it then.” He lingered over a page with a picture of a man with a bow in one hand and a harp in the other, a proud dog alongside him. Mark was sitting stiffly. There was dried blood just below one ear. Nicky wondered why he hadn't been seen by a physician. They waited on him hand and foot for everything else. A bath, at least. “What happened to you?”

Heavy silence filled the little room. Nicky stared down at the page, heard Mark breathing, slow and deliberate beside him.

“I don't know,” Mark murmured finally. Nicky looked up. “Sometimes I...” He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, and Nicky was sure he saw a blister on his palm, like a burn. “Sometimes I wake up like this. Not this bad, but...” He shook his head. “They give me something to sleep, every night. I haven't seen the dark since...”

“Since when?”

“Since... before.” Mark chewed his lip.

“Have you tried not taking it?”

“Don't really have a choice. A couple of times I said no, so they forced it down my throat.”

“Who?”

“Just...” He shook his head. “The maid brings it with dinner, and she stays to make sure I drink it. The guards held me down when I said no. They say it's because I hurt myself in my sleep, sometimes. Bad dreams. Maybe it's true. It'd explain...” He touched the scratches on his jaw with a wince. “I do have bad dreams.”

“About what?”

“Just... bad dreams. I'm in the dark, and sometimes there's fire. I'm not sure...”

“I have dreams like that,” Nicky interrupted. Mark tilted his head. “Have since I was small.”

“What happens in yours?”

“Not sure. I'm running away, mostly. Something's chasing me.”

“Mine aren't like that. They're just...” He sighed. “I'm frightened in them. Trapped. I'm trying to get out but there's no way and...”

“I know that one,” Nicky agreed solemnly. Mark nodded. “Think it means anything?”

“Don't know. Do you wake up with a black eye?” Nicky had to admit he didn't. “They said I knocked it off the bed post. That I scratched myself.” He bit his lip. Nicky wanted to hug him, suddenly. He looked thoroughly confused, a bit lost. Mark sidled into the arm he held out.

“Want me to stay with you one night?”

“No. It's fine.” Mark's nose nuzzled into his shoulder. Nicky smiled, feeling a flood of something almost like fondness. “It doesn't happen very often, and they post guards at night.” Their hands interlaced on Nicky's thigh. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Holding me.” When Nicky looked down Mark's eyes were closed. He could feel the boy sagging against him, probably exhausted. “Nobody touches me. Not any more.”

“Oh.” Mark's forehead tasted of sweat when Nicky pressed a kiss to it. He realised, in his confusion, that he'd forgotten all about the last few nights. “Well, I'm surprised you manage to sleep through all the noise, anyway.”

“What noise?”

“The...” Nicky pulled back slightly. “You never hear it? Like a roar. Sometimes there's fire.”

“Where?”

“From the keep.” It seemed amazing, but he supposed if Mark was in such an unnatural sleep it was likely he was knocked out for most of it.

“This keep?” Mark's eyes widened. “Really?”

“Really.” Nicky pursed his lips. Mark was looking honestly surprised, his mouth parted slightly. “Nobody's told you about it?”

“Nobody talks to me. What is it?”

“We don't know,” Nicky admitted. “It's not every night. The last two nights, though, they've been...” He hesitated. “Were your dreams quite bad the night before last as well?”

“Yes, but I don't...” Mark blinked up at him. “Do you think that's why they've been so bad? Because of all the noise?” Nicky shrugged. It made as much sense as anything else around here. “I just thought it was because...” He trailed off, pursing his lips.

“Because of what?”

“The... the man. The one in the black gloves. He's here. He...” He swallowed. “They're always worse when he's here.”

“Why?”

“He...” Mark exhaled slowly. “They're... not all from the night. Some of them are...” There was a hot flush spilling into his cheeks as he turned from Nicky's embrace to tug at the bottom of his night-shirt. It came up, his lap hidden by the folds, and Nicky bit his lip when he saw the obvious outline of strap-marks, striped across the small of his back.

“Mark...” He reached out gingerly. These had been washed and treated properly, but they were still red, the skin cracked at the edges and traced with dried blood. There was a hiss when he touched one. They were bruised, purple around the edges. Nicky realised there were older ones, white scars crossing under the new, fresh ones. Mark lowered the shirt again. “He beats you?” He saw blue eyes fall shut, the tilt of a nod.

“It's worse when he's here,” Mark said again. Suddenly Nicky felt ashamed. For what he'd said, thought, about how it couldn't be that bad, this place. How freedom was a poor price to pay for being starving and cold and scraping by. This was...

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. Mark snuggled into his chest.

“It's not your fault.” He felt tired. Nicky held him until he fell asleep, then stayed with him, stroking his hair while Mark curled into him, feeling suddenly smaller in his arms.

  
  


*

  
  


The carriage disappeared a few days later. Nicky visited the day before it left, climbed the ladder and let himself in to find Mark sat stiffly in the corner, a pillow propped against his back and a book in his lap, the blanket curled around him to make a little nest. There were fresh cuts on his palm, from what looked like a cane, but his scratches had been cleaned and the eye was beginning to change colour, settling into browns and purples.

He didn't ask. The nights had been quiet again, and there wasn't much to say, anything he could do to help. There was something going on here, something bigger and more powerful than he knew how to manage. He wanted to get Mark out, but didn't know where they'd go. Didn't know how far this stretched, if they'd be run down within the day. Wanted to tell Shane and Kian but couldn't explain that he'd been sneaking off for months, kept this secret from them.

He felt helpless and frightened, but mostly he just wanted to make Mark smile. Wanted to see blue eyes dart up and soften while they curled together with a book between them, Nicky reading out loud and Mark helping him when he got to a word he didn't know.

It was late, he and his friends huddled close around the campfire to keep the cold out. He couldn't stop looking up at the tower. Knew it was silly, that Mark was asleep, but wished he could be there. Not for the protection from the winter wind, or for the soft bed, but because he wanted to hold the boy, soothe him through his nightmares. Feel bare skin on his, and a heart beating slow against his chest.

“It's getting colder,” Shane commented. Kian nodded in agreement. There were other men around the fire, but they were talking amongst themselves, and with the scrape of knives on tin cups as they levered their ration of stew into their mouths, there wasn't much chance of anyone listening in.

“It is at that.” Kian sighed, his arm coming out to trap Shane's shoulders, draw him in. Nobody commented. Months on end in the same spot, and there were a few convenient friendships springing up through camp. Nicky wasn't surprised. Any port in a storm, and a storm was definitely coming. There had been dark cloudbanks building all day.

“Hope whoever's in there's comfortable.” Shane nodded towards the castle. There were candles glowing in some of the windows, torches lit at the gate. “Seeing as us lot are suffering down here for god knows what reason.”

“You wanted to come,” Nicky reasoned.

“That's a way to put it.” Dark eyes flicked towards the knife on Nicky's belt, the yellow stones reflecting the firelight. “Where else would we go?”

“Somewhere warm?” Kian suggested. Shane snorted. “Maybe it's time we moved on,” he continued with a lowered voice. “We've been here long enough. So much for gold and princesses. It's hardly an adventure, sitting on our arses.”

“You want to leave?” Nicky felt his stomach clench. “We can't leave.”

“Why not? It's not deserting if we never signed up.”

“You want to explain that, when they're coming after us on horseback?” Nicky shot back. Probably silly. They were their own men, could leave if they wanted, but he knew he'd be expected to go with them. And he couldn't. Couldn't let Shane go, his oldest friend. Couldn't leave...

“You're probably right.” Shane was staring into the fire, shoulders hunched. “Suppose it's okay for you. All the free food from whoever you're bending over for.”

“I'm not...” Nicky swallowed. “It's not like that,” he muttered. Kian frowned.

“What's it like, then? Where do you go?”

“Around.”

“Around where? I never see you.”

“I'm surprised you see anything but the back of Shane's head.” He felt guilty the moment he said it. Saw Shane's cheeks colour in a slapped blush. Turned away to avoid the accusatory look Kian was giving him.

“Right.” Kian's voice was brittle. Nicky felt it prickle up the back of his neck. “Well, I suppose if you want to stay, that's your business. It's obviously none of ours. You sorting yourself with food and hot baths while we freeze to death.”

“You don't know,” Nicky murmured. “I can't...” Shane still hadn't looked at him. Nicky bit his lip. “You're right,” he admitted. “If you want to go, you should go. Don't wait for...” He stood. “I erm... I'm sorry. I'll...” He stalked away from fire, sure if he stayed he'd burst into tears.

He crept back much later that night. The tent was quiet, dark when he stumbled on hands and knees, feeling for a spare corner to sleep. Closed his eyes and curled up, listening to the other two boys breathe.

Sleep was close when a hand curved to his cheek, then up, brushing hair off his face. Opened his eyes to find dark eyes studying him.

He let Shane pull him in, buried his head in a strong shoulder and cried softly, feeling a strong hand stroke up and down his heaving back until he fell asleep.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“You can come out,” Mark announced. The door had just closed, and Nicky could smell meat and fresh bread, began to wriggle out from under the bed. It was late morning, and he'd just come up to find a book open on the bed and Mark smiling at him, his eyes lit up the way they always were when Nicky knocked.

“Thanks.” He took a piece of bread, soaked it through the juices running from what he suspected was roast venison. “It's fucking freezing out there. Been snowing for three days.”

“I saw. It's pretty.”

“It is from up here.” It was, a huge cape woven with crystals, spread across the camp. “Down there it's like freezing my bollocks off.” People were getting sick, too, and there had been grumbling across the camp, fights breaking out, though Nicky didn't know how they had the energy. The wind was like a scythe, cutting through camp and stripping them down to the bone. “Right now I wouldn't mind one of those midnight fire things. At least it might warm the place up.”

“Sorry.” Mark looked sheepish. “I can't do anything about...”

“I know.” Nicky realised he was talking with his mouth full, and swallowed. “Can't talk to whoever's in charge of this place?”

“If I could, I would. Maybe ask them why I've been here almost a year. What the point is.” He looked shyly at Nicky. “Not that it's been all terrible.”

“No,” Nicky conceded. Mark was blushing. It was lovely. Warmed his heart in a way he wasn't entirely prepared for. “Didn't expect this when I got here.”

“What did you expect?”

“Not sure. There were rumours. Someone said there was a treasure. Or a princess, locked up in a tower. Suppose they were close.”

“Am I the treasure or the princess?” Mark joked. Nicky laughed.

“Neither.” He nudged Mark. “Not secretly made of gold, are ya?”

“Not that I know of.” Mark smirked. “When did you sign up?”

“Didn't, exactly,” Nicky said slowly. Mark was looking at him curiously, and he realised they'd never really talked about this. It felt complicated, like admitting to something he didn't know he was entirely proud of. It was probably shallow, but he worried, a little, that Mark would think badly of him. “My friend wanted to come, and things were hard in the city, so we left. Found a few helmets and blended in.”

“Why haven't you left, then? If it's so awful.”

“We've talked about it,” Nicky hedged. Mark was looking earnest, almost worried that he was giving Nicky ideas. “They wanted to. I said I didn't want to go, so we're staying. For a while.”

“Oh.” Blue eyes peeked at him from under dark lashes. “You wanted to stay? Why?”

“Not sure.” Fuck, but he was beautiful. Rosy-cheeked, pale, lips soft and pink. Expressive, shifting gaze that danced when he smiled. Nicky realised he'd drawn closer without meaning to. “Couldn't leave you, could I?”

“You could,” Mark argued. “I wouldn't be surprised. Everyone does, so...”

“I... didn't want to.” Blue eyes closed, for a moment. Lips parted. Invitation, maybe, but they looked like they were tasting the air, Nicky's breath. He could taste Mark's. It was warm on his mouth. “Didn't want to leave you.”

“I don't want you to.” His eyes opened again. Nicky stared back, caught. A pink tongue darted out to wet full lips. “Nicky, do...”

The kiss was barely a breath. Nicky gulped, felt his bottom lip brush Mark's top one, heard a soft whine. It broke. Felt like it had barely happened, a whisper tingling on his skin.

“Erm...”

“I...” Nicky swallowed again. Mark was breathing hard, searching his face with a darkened gaze. “Oh, fucking hell.”

There was a growl, one he didn't expect to come out of the quiet, shy boy next to him. Nicky was swallowing it before it could finish, felt a hand grab at his arm, the hard press of fingers tightening. He tasted good. Like what they'd been eating. Like hot, wet hunger. He was pushed back, groaned when he felt Mark against him.

“Have me,” Nicky muttered. Mark whimpered. “Please, I...” He realised it had been a long time. Since the arrangement between he and Shane had tapered off as he spent more time in Kian's bed. But it wasn't just need. Want, too. For this boy, kissing him clumsily while Nicky grabbed at him, the night-shirt frustratingly in the way.

“I don't...” Mark gulped. “What do I...?”

Nicky realised. The inexperience in the sucking bites peppering his mouth, the boy locked away for years. Of course he hadn't. Of course...

“Here.” He tugged. Felt Mark pull the night-shirt back down instead. “If we're going to...”

“I...” Mark was flushed. Hard, beneath the fabric. Nicky could feel it when he arched up, saw eyelids flutter closed as a moan tripped over a swollen lip. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don't... want you to see.” They were separating, then. Mark crawling back and away, the comforter dragged over. His eyes were shining, though whether it was panic or embarrassment Nicky wasn't sure. “I erm...” He exhaled shakily. “I can't.” A trembling hand scrubbed over a flushed face. “You can leave, if you want.”

“I don't want to.” Nicky felt numb. Tried to follow, until knees bent up between them, keeping him out. “What don't you want me to see?”

“Me. I don't...” He looked away, mouth twisting down. Nicky reached over his knee. Saw nervous blue eyes dart up, then away.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know.” His hands raked back through his hair, elbows bent in for protection. Stayed there, pressed above his ears.

“Is it the scars? I've already seen...”

“No. It's not. I just.” He bit his lip. “I can't. Don't make me.”

“I wouldn't,” Nicky promised. Mark nodded slowly, hands sinking down until they were wrapped around the sides of his neck, fingers knitted in his nape. Nicky crawled closer, around his bent up knees until they were sat side-by-side, the comforter puddled around their hips. He wrapped an arm around stiff shoulders.

“I've ruined everything, haven't I?”

“Of course not.” Nicky squeezed him. Mark didn't look up. “Probably for the best. I haven't had a bath in weeks.”

“Do you want me to get...”

“It's fine.” He smiled. “It's fine.” He kissed a red cheek. The hands fell, finally, into Mark's lap. Nicky pulled him into a hug.

“I want it.” It was a whisper, buried in his neck. “I miss you when you're not here. It hurts until you get back.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” He blinked away tears of surprised emotion. “I'll take care of you.” And get him the hell away from here, he knew that already. Knew he couldn't leave Mark behind. That he'd figure something out. “I miss you at night,” he admitted softly. Mark shivered. “I want you with me.”

“Yes,” Mark breathed. There was a lustful shudder in it. “Yes, I...” He swallowed, and Nicky stifled a moan when he felt lips suck to his shoulder. “I have the bad dreams, but sometimes... sometimes before that I have other ones. You're... in them.” Nicky closed his eyes, glad for the blankets covering him. He felt another kiss cling to his collarbone. “I dream about...”

“Yes.” Nicky shivered. Mark was hot, shifting against the mattress. There was a soft whimper against his neck and he realised one of Mark's hands had slipped beneath the covers. His own slid down to join it, covered a slowly clenching grip closed over the bulge in the nightgown.

A soft cry blurted into his neck. He tightened the hold, slid down to learn Mark's shape. Fingers laced with his, both of them working a slow grip at dampening fabric. His thumb brushed out a groan and a shudder, sweeping over the sensitive curve of him.

“Nicky...”

“Feels good,” Nicky croaked. Mark was twisting, slightly, hips undulating into their hands. “Yes?”

“Yes.” His eyes squeezed shut, head tipping back to expose a long neck bared and vulnerable. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes...” He arched suddenly, turned in to mouth clumsily at Nicky's ear. “Ah...” His teeth nipped like they were looking for purchase. And still, the rub of their joined grip, Nicky's pressing thumb. His other hand came up, guiding Mark into a hard kiss, devouring. Desperate while a tongue curled against his, Mark's fingers tangling into the hair at his nape.

A gasp, a sudden snap of hips, and the fabric beneath his hand was sticky, Mark pressing up in erratic thrusts that slowed as his breaths heaved out of him, quick and hard. Nicky bit playfully at his lower lip, heard a dazed laugh.

“Er.” He opened his eyes to see heavy ones peeking at him. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Mark smiled shyly. “It was alright?”

“It was beautiful,” Nicky assured him. Mark was still looking up at him, eyes so reverent it was a little frightening. Too much responsibility, to not hurt this boy, to keep him safe.

Nicky just hoped he wouldn't let him down.

  
  


*

  
  


They played together some more the next time Nicky visited. Mark was waiting, looking at him hungrily when Nicky shut the door and slunk towards the bed while the covers were lifted for him to slide in.

It felt childish, in a way. Sweet. There was laughter, blushing desperation while they touched carefully through clothes, Mark's fingers experimenting every time they roamed over Nicky's skin, every time they moved against each other, kissing deep. Then afterwards, sweaty, wrapped around each other in sticky sheets, Mark breathing into his neck, arms holding him tight.

“I'm going to get you out,” Nicky promised. Mark smiled into his neck, looked ready to reply, when they both froze at the sound of footsteps in the hall.

“It's him,” Mark gasped. Nicky stared in confusion. “You have to go.”

“I...” Nicky looked around. “I'll hide, then.”

“He'll find you. Just...” Mark shoved him, pushed him stumbling off the bed. Nicky landed, yelped when his clothes landed on top of him. Mark was still in the nightshirt, thought it was rucked up, not likely to be too much of a mess. The sheets were probably another matter. Nicky hadn't seen him properly, not really, but the touch of him was enough. Pliant under his hands when he slid them beneath the covers.

A rap on the door. Mark bit his lip.

“Go,” he urged.

Nicky bolted for the door, threw his clothes in, and was down the ladder in a moment. Heard the flutterthump of everything landing on the trapdoor below, and clung there, starkers, while the door clicked shut and the rustle of drapes announced it had been concealed.

“Markus.” It was muffled through the wood. Nicky considered climbing down, then paused, holding onto the top rung while bootheels clicked across the room. “You know why I'm here.”

“I don't.” It was quiet, almost beaten. Nicky felt his heart sicken. “I don't. Please. I just want to go home.” Bedsprings creaked. Nicky hoped the man wouldn't notice the smell. “I don't know what you want. What you think I...”

“Turn over.”

“No. Please...”

Nicky winced. Heard a yelp, and slight scuffling, then the thud of someone hitting the floor, trying to scramble away. Wanted to force himself up and out, fight back and pull Mark away, but he didn't know that he could. Didn't know if the man was armed, if he was alone. Didn't know if it would just make things worse.

“Be still.”

“No...”

“Markus...”

“I...” A breath shuddered out, just on the other side of the door.

The first crack was sharp. Mark cried out, a gasp of surprised pain. Nicky's hand tightened on the rung.

The second crack was harder. A pained grunt in response.

Another. Another. Nicky lost count. Ten. Twelve. Fifteen. More. On flesh that hadn't healed yet, that was still purpled and scabby, yellowing with almost-faded bruises. There was a thud and for a moment he heard silence, then the unmistakable sound of someone being dragged across the floor.

“Change, boy.”

“I d-don't...” Nicky shook his head, not sure he'd heard that right. “P-please. P...” He gurgled softly. “Please...”

“I'll come back tomorrow.”

And with that the footsteps stomped away. Nicky jumped at the slam of the door.

“Mark,” he hissed. Could only hear sobbing in response. “Mark. Are you...” He shook his head. No. Couldn't stay here, even if there were guards. And he didn't think there were. Didn't know that anyone could just stand by silently while...

The door creaked open. Nicky peered out.

“Leave me,” Mark whispered. Nicky felt his heart break.

“Shh.” He crawled towards the boy, heard the door clunk shut behind him. “Oh...”

“Did you...”

“I heard,” Nicky confirmed. “I did. I'm sorry.” Mark sobbed, let himself be scooped up without much fight. Nicky pulled him to his chest, felt hair pool in his neck. “Love, I...” Mark sniffed.

“Hurts.”

“I know.” His lip was bleeding, probably from biting it. Nicky lifted the back of his shirt carefully, winced when he saw the stripes, the painted red mess of his thighs. “This needs cleaning.”

“They'll send someone.” Mark's eyes were closed. “You'd better go. They won't be long.”

“I won't leave you,” Nicky promised. Mark sagged against him. “Does he do that every time?” A feeble nod. “What does he want? What did he mean, change?”

All Mark could do was shake his head. Nicky held him while he trembled and cried, trying not to touch the raw wounds on his legs, turning the white night-shirt into a lattice of pink.

  
  


*

  
  


Mark's wounds were cleaned while Nicky lay under the bed. It took a long time, the boy flinching and crying out every now and then. If the physician reacted, Nicky didn't know about it.

When they were alone again he climbed back up. Realised he should probably collect his clothes from the passage eventually, but he didn't mind not having them. It was nice, in a way, feeling Mark against him, even through the clean night-shirt he put on after the strap-marks were dressed, holding him in and singing softly to him while his love shivered in his arms.

It was a feeling he was entirely unfamiliar with. Love, of course, wasn't a concept he was unacquainted with. He loved Shane. Knew that well enough. Though that was as a brother, a friend. This was something else. Something hot and prickling that was as terrifying as it was comforting.

“Go to sleep,” Nicky whispered. Mark shook his head. He looked tired. Beaten, almost, like everything had been sucked out of him. An empty wine-skin, slumped and used.

“Can't. Hurts too much.” He kissed Nicky's collar. “I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“That you had to...” He sighed. “I don't know. It was better when you hadn't heard. I feel weak. Stupid.”

“You could hardly help it,” Nicky reasoned. “What were you going to do? Fight back?”

“I... did that once.” Mark shook his head. “Tried to, anyway.”

“Didn't go well?”

“No.” He pulled his right foot out of the covers, peeled back the stocking covering it. Nicky blinked in surprise. He'd never seen Mark's foot before. They were always clothed, or under the covers, but...

“He did this to you?”

“Had someone else do it. They held me down while he watched.” Mark slipped the stocking back on to cover the four remaining toes, the smallest one a healed-over stump. “He said if I tried again they'd take a finger next.”

“Mark...” Nicky swallowed back a lump in his throat. Mark didn't even look angry, just defeated. “I'm getting you out,” he decided. “You'll come with me. I'll get you some clothes. You can pretend to be another soldier, we'll blend in for a bit, and when we leave you can come with us.”

“Oh.” Mark looked unsure. “Where will we go? I don't have any money.”

“I never do. We'll go out to the country, maybe find work on a farm, and then when we've saved up enough we could get a little cottage or something. You could teach. You know all the stories.” He was surprised at how nice that sounded. It had always been Shane's dream. He knew he and Kian had talked about travelling for a while, maybe joining up with a theatre troupe or a musician's caravan, going until they found a place to stop then settling there, a hearth and a farm and all the rest of it.

“They'll find me.”

“There won't be a you to find. We'll change your name, go as far away as we can.”

“I...” He was blushing. Looked terrified, of course, but there was something hopeful shining in his eyes. Nicky kissed his temple. “You'll stay with me?”

“Forever and ever,” Nicky promised. Mark nuzzled into his shoulder. “It's like one of your stupid songs, right? Not a pot to piss in, but enough as long as we've got each other. Though I'd prefer to have the pot as well.” He saw a smile, held Mark tighter. “I love you. I do.”

“I love you,” Mark whispered. “I felt so grey, all the time, and then...” He looked up. “I'll go with you. If they catch us, then...” He swallowed hard. “Then I'll finish it myself. Better to die out there than in here.” Nicky felt his eyes fill with tears.

“I'll protect you,” he promised. “Even if it comes to that.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

He didn't leave, as dark began to fall. Went down to collect his clothes, and then stayed, nestled in Mark's bed and talking quietly. It felt grandly exciting, now that they'd decided. They'd leave once the carriage had gone. Mark said the man only stayed for a few days at a time, so they'd wait until he'd left, then a little longer. The maids and a few guards and the physician seemed the only ones here the rest of the time, so perhaps they could slip away in the morning, be gone before the alarm was raised, even longer before the carriage was able to make it back.

Mark asked questions. About the world, about what they'd do and how they'd live and eat and all the rest of it. Nicky said he'd take care of it, and they decided to save any food they could until they left, anything that would last. He'd tell Shane and Kian the day before, tell them they were leaving and that they'd have a companion, but decided to tell them no more than that. Not because he didn't trust them, but because it was too much of a burden to bear if they were caught. Better that they were ignorant and not to blame. He didn't want them to suffer for he and Mark.

It was getting late, the camp strung with fires in the darkness, when there was a knock on the door.

He slid down the ladder again to hide. Mark hadn't been sure if he should stay overnight, but Nicky had insisted. The lad was hurt, and what were a few nightmares when they were in love? He'd stay all night, watch over him, and in the morning he would go and make preparations for their departure.

It was a while before the maid left. When Nicky came up there was an empty cup and a plate still with an apple and some scraps of meat. He pocketed the apple, then ate the meat perched on the edge of the bed while Mark lay back, smiling at him.

“Tired,” he murmured. Nicky touched his knee, saw sleepy eyes flicker with light. “I love you, Nicky.”

“I love you too,” Nicky whispered. “Sleep well, love.”

Mark fell asleep not long after. A deep sleep, weighted with whatever had been in the cup. Nicky kissed his forehead and stayed to keep watch.

It was not long after that he heard footsteps in the hall.

There wasn't enough time to get to the door, so instead he flung himself under the bed, glad for the covers slouched over the side to better conceal him. The door opened, and familiar bootheels clicked across the floor.

“Bring him,” the man said. Nicky saw black boots tipped in gold. The bed above him creaked, and Nicky saw more feet, felt the sagging mattress lift as Mark was picked up. When he peered out he could see the boy slung over the shoulder of a guard, carrying him towards the door.

He didn't know what to do. No point in trying to stop it. The guard could pick up a grown man easily, would have no trouble dispatching him, especially with the vicious steel hung from his hip. Boots clicked away. The door closed.

Nicky crept from his hiding place, and followed.

  
  


*

  
  


If Nicky had ever lamented a youth badly-spent, he was grateful for it now. His feet padded silently as he crouched his way up the hall, pausing at corners so they wouldn't see him creeping after him.

He'd never seen the rest of the castle before, not from the inside. For the most part it seemed to be falling into disrepair. The stones were dirty, and the high wooden beams looked rotted and mouldy, the tapestries moth-eaten. They didn't go far. Down spiralled stairs, Nicky thankful for the blind it caused, then across a large courtyard while Nicky hunched in the darkness, hidden by dead briars.

It was pretty out here, in a miserable sort of way. He could see the stars, the sky open above them, and the cracked paving once had been painted in bright colours that had faded and washed out over. At one end stood a dry fountain, though if there had been anything atop the broken spire at it's centre it had been long destroyed. There was a large hole in the far wall, looked punched through by some invader or another, and all around them parapets ringing the high walls that closed them in, the castle itself trapping the courtyard inside.

Mark was put down. Puddled stiffly on the cracked paving. He looked more than asleep, almost like a living death. Pale in the moonlight. Nicky wanted to run to him. Protect him.

He shivered. The snow had melted during the day, but the wind was savage. He nestled into the wall to break the icy gusts. Wondered how Mark could sleep like that, in just a nightshirt on the cold pavers.

The man stood over him. Nicky couldn't see his face, hood pulled up and cast in shadow. Dressed all in black, though his gloves and shoes were tipped with gold, a thread of it running in the seams of his cloak. The guard was let go, and he hurried away, through a gate at the end of the courtyard. It lowered its spikes into the ground, cutting off the way.

The man was bending down. Saying something, though Nicky couldn't hear the words. He was frightened, now. Saw the man pull a knife from his cloak.

Nicky went to bolt from the shadows, ready to shout a warning.

Heard the knife rip through fabric.

Mark, bare on the stone, his shirt pooled underneath him. Beautiful, Nicky realised. Soft, dark hair at his groin and spread up his chest, his skin impossibly pale, almost blue. Long legs, red lips, all of him silver in the moonlight.

Nicky's breath caught.

The shadows shifted. Arched, around the man in black. Nicky blinked, for a moment, not sure how the shadows could change, and then realised it wasn't just the shadows. Saw the arch of shoulders, the flap of the cloak, twisting away from him, almost alive. Gasped as the man seemed to grow, suddenly, outwards and upwards, bending forward onto all fours, the cloak a fluttering nightmare that gathered and swelled as Nicky stared up with widening eyes, the immense shadow glowing suddenly gold at it's edges.

The dragon roared.

He screamed. Couldn't hear himself, not over the bellow of it. Bad out there, worse in here, the noise of it ringing through the courtyard, an echo feeding itself. Tears leaked from his eyes, the sound almost seeming to have physical presence, pushing at his chest and raking through his hair.

“Mark...” he croaked, trying to warn, sure the thing would eat him in one snap. Taller than anything, bigger across. He thought he'd seen huge when he'd seen elephants once, in a travelling managerie, but this was something else. It towered, too big to measure, though when it stretched its neck, snake-like jaws snapping at the sky, Nicky was almost sure it could eat the moon.

It turned. Yellow eyes with a slitted pupil. Its belly scraped the stones, purple tongue tasting the air. A nightmare shadow, hard black, its claws golden, like the ripples running down the ridge of scales on its mountainous back. Nicky shrank into the darkness, saw it turn away in disinterest, its wings like sails flapping up through the air then creasing in against its sides.

Saw a second head, blinking eyes the colour of sapphire in a purple-blue face that lengthened in the moonlight. Smaller, but growing, one wing hanging awkward against its side, its silver claws clicking on the stones, ungainly, like a foal chancing at walking on a frozen pond.

He saw one huge talon curl, five claws bending in, then out again, testing. Saw the other back leg lift and settle, four claws spreading.

The Mark-dragon stretched it's neck, wings stretching carefully, then looked up at the other, tilting its enormous head.

It sniffed. Blinked.

Then it raised its head, the pale column of its throat going suddenly orange.

The gout of fire spewed into the sky. Nicky felt it from where he was sat, the furnace-blast of it roaring against him, a press of heat. It hit its apex and spread, a circle of flame like a horrendous lake breaking its banks. The Mark-dragon snapped it off with a flick of its jaws, looking at the black dragon for approval.

Then it hiccuped.

Nicky covered his mouth to stifle a giggle. Enormous dragon, a demon of scale and fire, and it was looking a little shame-faced as it hiccuped again, coughed, then burped a small fireball that bolted into the sky before evaporating, trying to look casual while the black dragon watched it with a look of idle contempt.

There was a hiss, a purple tongue flicking out, forked at the end. The Mark-dragon cringed away. Nicky saw the black dragon turn, then swing, its long tail cutting through the air.

The blue dragon screeched, was knocked back, then down as the black dragon landed atop him, front talons digging into his shoulders, back ones scrambling at his stomach as if to disembowel. It snapped at his face, bronze teeth burnt sword-blades, hilted in a snarling jaw. The Mark-dragon cringed back, tried to fight him off, then was let go with a grunt of disapproval.

The black dragon backed off, slightly. The Mark-dragon clambered to its feet, head bowed but watchful, swaying back and forth slightly as if to judge the larger beast, its eyes calculating.

Mark leapt.

They fought for hours, it seemed like. Never a winner, but Nicky saw. The black dragon backing off, giving the smaller one a chance. Teaching, he realised. Letting him attack, defend. Moving slow, then faster, swinging slow with tail and claw, then speeding up until it was a flurry of snapping and swiping and rearing, the two of them sparring under the cold moonlight.

At last the Mark-dragon dropped, exhausted. Breathing hard. Rolled onto its side in submission to show its enormous blue and purple belly. The black dragon snapped at him, then sat back with a snort, tilting its head. Mark snorted back, eyes averted, then began to shrink, wings shrivelling, face flattening and neck shortening, claws blunting into fingernails until there was only Mark, naked and unconscious on the stone.

It was then that Nicky realised the hilt of his knife was glowing.

It always did, in a way. The yellow stones seemed to have a shine to them, something clear that caught and broke the light, even when there was barely enough to see by. Now it was flickering, lit from within rather than by moonlight, a slow pulse like a heartbeat.

He covered the hilt with his shirt, not wanting to be seen in the darkness. The gate at the end of the courtyard began to clank up, distracting his attention. and when he looked up he realised the man in black had shrunk down, was adjusting his cloak around his old shape and looking towards the man who had just entered the courtyard.

Another stranger, this one in grey travelling clothes with a peaked cap. Someone important, Nicky could tell already. Not from the clothes – they were plain enough – but from the way he walked. The confident clip of his boots, the set of his shoulders. Not a large man, but one Nicky was frightened of without thinking. This was a man who could have your head of with a snap of his fingers.

The man in black bowed low as the man in grey reached him. He was allowed to rise after a moment, and Nicky tried to listen as they stood together, looking at the injured boy on the ground.

“He's coming along.” The second man's voice was steady, as though he hadn't just seen two dragons sparring in the courtyard of a ruined castle.

“Not fast enough.” The man in black sounded apologetic, almost. “The others...”

“Other,” the grey man corrected. “We lost another. This one...” He tilted his head, studying Mark with flat eyes. “This one is strong?”

“He's young. I'm afraid that...” There was hesitation in his voice. “He'll not change when he's awake. I've tried beatings, tried starving him, tried coddling him, but...” He shrugged. “There are touches of it in him. He'll change sometimes in his sleep if he's not put down, though it never lasts long. I've seen scales on him, and sometimes he sees more than he should, smells more.”

“A good start.”

“It won't be soon enough.”

“We have time.” The man crouched down, grey cloak puddling about him. Mark was stirring, mumbling in his sleep. “Three will have to do. There are no more left, not unless we wait for another to be grown, and there's certainly not time for that.” He touched Mark's cheek.

“He's impertinent.”

“So were we all at that age. You're in charge?”

“When he's beast, yes. He'll yield. The boy... is difficult. He's too kind. Last time I forced the change he tried to end it himself. He'll turn on us if left in control. It's a waste if I have to kill him.”

“You'll beat the mercy out of him.”

“Yes.” The man in black crossed his arms. “How much longer?”

“Hard to say. The king has spent far too long on his deathbed. The new lad...” The grey man shrugged and stood. “He's weak. He'll see reason.”

“Reason?”

“Our enemies are plenty. The new king will understand why it's necessary. Fleapit End, the whore-houses, the crooked merchants... All the rats will scatter, and later we'll rebuild. Three should be enough to flood the sewers clean, then turn them to the outside, until the other kingdoms kneel or perish.”

“I'll not let you down.” He turned, and Nicky swore the eyes under the hood were still golden and slitted, peering through the darkness.

“I have faith in you, old friend.” The smile was cruel. Hands steepled against his chest, in the folds of the grey travelling cloak. “I ride for the city tomorrow morning. One of the officers has been kind enough to offer me his tent for the night.”

“By choice?”

“No.” There was a sardonic tilt to his voice. They both let out laughs like steel, humourless and somehow hollow in the icy air. “But it's certainly comfortable, and there's a woman he's been keeping who's already offered herself. I'll enjoy showing her the error of her ways. I doubt anyone will miss her.” Nicky felt his heart still, saw grey eyes narrow as they looked at the sleeping boy. “When it's time, I will send for you. Be ready.”

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky crept back as soon as he could while the guard wrestled Mark back onto his shoulders. Crept into the tower room and under the bed, holding his breath while he waited for bootheels on the floor, the slouch of the mattress above his head.

The bootheels didn't come, but there were tromping steps and the creak of a body being dumped. Knew in an instant that the man in black hadn't cared enough to come with him, had dismissed Mark the moment he'd been human again, small and bleeding and limp, something to be discarded until useful again.

He was reeling. Didn't know what to think. Lay under the bed a long time after the door shut and they were alone again, not sure how to climb out, whether he could even look at Mark.

Dawn was breaking when he finally rolled from under the bed and stood to peer hesitantly at the shape bundled in the covers.

Dark hair, parted lips. Perfect blue eyes hidden in sleep and a scratch on one rosy cheek. Nicky reached out carefully, not sure how to reconcile it. How to see that snarling, demonic _thing_ in this sweet, pale boy.

He couldn't take Mark with him. Not like this, tilted on the line between human and monster. There was no telling what would happen out there, whether he'd be in control like that. Whether there was anything of Mark left inside that enormous, raging beast.

He turned away, headed for the door, tears already welling in his eyes and his helpless heart a shattered stone.

“...Nicky?”

Soft. Nicky froze, shoulders hunching already in defence. Heard the sheets rustle behind him and the sleepy moan of a yawn.

He made the mistake of looking around. Blue eyes dazed and kind, the same ones he'd seen that first visit. Almost every day for months. They blinked shyly. Nicky bit his lip.

“Why am I naked?”

“Er...” Nicky crossed back to the bed, every footstep a curse. An arm caught him, slid around his waist as Mark sat up and nestled into his shoulder, the covers wrapped around both of them. Nicky kissed his hair. Warmth and sweetness. Mark's breath on his neck, easy comfort. “You had a nightmare,” he murmured. “Think you might have thrown them off in the night.”

“Oh.” Mark kissed his shoulder. “I'll get dressed, then.”

“Don't.” Nicky caught his waist, felt Mark stiffened. Knew he had to do this, at least. To know. When he stroked up he felt the skin roughen, thicken, knew from the moan of protest that Mark hadn't wanted him to, but there it was, after all.

“What's this?”

“Don't know,” Mark admitted. His drowsy expression was muddling with shame as he tried to pull away. “Had it since I was small.” He was grudging, but he hesitantly let Nicky pull down the covers, bowing his neck when Nicky saw the marks, red and darkened skin that looked like irritated scars overlapping, spread out across his shoulders in angry wings. “They said I'm marked. That I'm...” A croak infected his voice. “That's why they sent me away. I'm bad luck.” He bit his lips, mouth trembling for a moment, and then let out a defeated sigh. “Things happen, around me. Bad things. I didn't want you to know. I thought...”

“Like what?”

“It doesn't matter.” Nicky raised an eyebrow, saw Mark's expression shift for a moment before he relented. “They said the day I was born all the cows gave sour milk,” Mark started, looking nervous. “Animals never liked me. We had dogs, and they would always bark at me, and once when they took me on a hunt we didn't find a single rabbit that day, and there were _always_ rabbits. Then, at the end, one of the hawks went mad and attacked one of the stable-hands, took one of his eyes out. My horse wouldn't let me ride, so I had to walk, but one of the others panicked, broke its leg in a ditch. We had to end it's misery.”

“That wasn't your fault,” Nicky said hollowly. His fingers traced the edge of the scars, and he felt Mark flinch. “Do they hurt?”

“No. Sometimes. They burn, more than anything, but not all the time. Just...” He looked over his shoulder, eyes frightened. “I'm awful. You don't have to...”

“Shh,” Nicky urged. Mark bit his lip. “Tell me the rest.”

“There were... other things. Once in the night my drapes were set alight, almost burned half the wing down. They said it was a candle that had fallen. And one morning I woke up in a hedge, a mile from the house. It sounds crazy.”

“I believe you,” Nicky promised. He didn't, really, but knew Mark had never meant it. He didn't know what to say. Whether to tell him. Whether this lost boy with broken memories was better than what he'd say once he knew. When he found out what his purpose was. “They're not so bad.” He kissed Mark's shoulder, felt the muscle jump under roughened skin. “What did you dream about last night?”

Mark pulled the covers back up once Nicky let him, almost hurrying to conceal the scars. “There was something in the dark. It wanted me to hurt people, but I didn't want to. It made me anyway, but...” He blinked over his shoulder. “What do you think it means?”

Nicky didn't know what to tell him, so instead he held Mark tighter, trying to breathe him in.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The journey back was cold and long. It was early morning, the camp buzzing with excitement. Over last night's events, he was sure at first, but then he heard snippets of conversation while he walked. Not just the fire and noise, but something else. An army in the distance, spotted by the riders. Still six days march from here, but gaining, flying the banners of the kingdom to the north.

Shane greeted him at camp with a furious hug.

“Where have you been?!” he scolded. Nicky hugged him back.

“I'm sorry, I...” He glanced up towards the castle once he was let go. “What's going on? I heard...”

“They're telling everyone to have positions ready, in case of attack. I didn't know...” He hugged Nicky again. “I'm glad you're safe.”

“We're fighting?”

“At least we're doing something.” Kian appeared behind Shane, a grim look on his face. He was a scrapper, was Kian, not a stranger to a bar brawl, but even he looked frightened. “If we're going, now's the chance. Here.” He picked up a spear leaned against the tent and handed it out. Nicky took it numbly. “Front line, apparently.”

“I...” Nicky stared at it. “They'll kill us if we desert.”

“Should have thought of that before. Run or fight.” Kian crossed his arms. “Up to you.”

Nicky pursed his lips, looking at the jagged metal tip of the spear in his hand. Focused past it, to a high window in a tall tower that thrust out of the rock.

“I have another idea.”

  
  


*

  
  


He slept most of that day. When he woke the excitement was thicker than it had been, burbling through the air. For once everyone seemed to have purpose. Soldiers who had been lazy too long doing drills with sword and shield, the clank of them ringing throughout camp. Men patching old mail and sharpening axes.

He saw the grey man sooner than he wanted to. Spotted him walking the camp, officers in tow and talking quietly, hands gesturing like they were trying to juggle every explanation at once. It was afternoon, an early dark cut with flying rumours, when he addressed the men.

The clouds were thick and angry. The earth muddy from melted snow and sleet when the three of them insinuating themselves into the crowd, just able to see the flutter of grey robes at the top of the hill.

“Men!” There was a grumbling roar in response. “You have been cold and still too long, and I applaud your diligence in this great task. The kingdom applauds it!” Nobody seemed entirely impressed. The man next to Nicky spat on the ground. “For up there...” He gestured towards Mark's tower. “Is the infant heir to the throne, and your future king!”

A ripple of astonishment went through the crowd. Beside him, Kian's mouth dropped open.

“I have been charged with utmost secrecy, in case our enemies find him, but it seems it has been in vain. The north is marching towards us, intent on murdering a child still at the breast. Will you let them?”

“No!” came the shout. Shane was tugging on Nicky's sleeve. Nicky could only stare in shock at the grey shape on the hill.

“Will you let those heathens take our kingdom and put us under their yoke?”

The roar in response suggested that people cared more about that than an imaginary baby. Nicky wondered what had really happened. Whether the rumours had spread, whether other lands had heard of the broken castle defended by an army, the bellowing fire at night.

“No,” he whispered.

“In three days we march!”

  
  


*

  
  


The sky was boiling as he headed towards the trapdoor. Lightning struck in the distance, the thrum of thunder suggesting the storm was only a few miles away.

The look on Mark's face when he slid out from behind the drapes damn near broke Nicky's heart.

“I missed you.” Nicky kissed his cheek, not sure how to reply. A flood of emotion, dammed by sense. He couldn't take Mark. Not in three days. Not when he wasn't sure, and with the others in tow. It was too dangerous. He held Mark in, not wanting to let go.

“Let me stay the night,” Nicky murmured. Mark smiled against his cheek, tugging him towards the bed. It was slow, pulling off clothes and Nicky looking at him properly for the first time, every beautiful piece of him. Touching him so carefully and trying to put as much love as he could into every kiss, every breath of his skin. Feeling Mark arch into him and wanting to hold him there, hold them together, until they melted into each other.

“Nicky.” His eyelids fluttered as Nicky guided him down and in. Bit his lip on a hoarse cry. “Nicky, I...”

“Make it last,” Nicky breathed. Mark gulped.

“I'll try.” His eyes closed, face burying into Nicky's shoulder and rubbing back and forth, his breath counting the seconds away too fast. “Oh...” Hissed into his skin, Nicky's hands clasping over rough scars that felt hot to the touch. “Love you, I love you, I...”

They held each other afterwards. The sky was dark, but not yet night, the rain a torrent. Mark's head rested on his chest, hands splayed over Nicky's stampeding heart, nestled in the warm and the dry, the candlelight softening the shadows.

“Will it always be like that?” Mark mumbled. He sounded shy. Nicky stroked his hair.

“I will always love you like that.”

“Thank you.” Blue eyes closed. He was tired. Almost to a doze. Nicky needed him awake. Needed not to miss a moment. He smiled against Nicky's chest, lips pursing into a kiss that brushed a nipple. “Everybody else threw me away, or locked me up, or tried to hurt me. You...” His eyes opened, and in them Nicky saw shades of a slitted gaze, narrowed in a snarl. Soft kindness that wouldn't go away. “I don't care if we don't have anything. As long as I have you.”

The maid came with dinner. Nicky hid while Mark ate, and when he climbed out there was an empty cup, a few pieces of bread. He took some, watched Mark nibble at the rest, his eyes already falling heavy from the drink.

“Stay awake,” Nicky murmured, as he began to slouch. “Don't you leave me.”

“Can't help it.” He yawned, mouth opening wide, then suddenly hiccuped. Nicky giggled without thinking, saw a sheepish grin, square teeth in a soft mouth, not the sharpened horror of the night before. The same smile, though, in an odd way. Something so beautifully Mark it stole his breath.

They lay down together, Mark against his side, Nicky talking to him softly while he sagged into the sheets.

“Tell me a story,” he urged. “A long one.”

“I don't know that I...” He yawned again. “...can.” His eyes fell closed. “In the morning.”

“Now.” He tried not to sound desperate, but it was hard when his heart was racing, his stomach a knot. “Tell me one of your star-stories.” A tired grumble nuzzled into his skin. “One with magic and people in the sky.”

“Too tired.”

“Tell me about dragons.”

There was silence for a moment. When Nicky looked down, one eye was cracking open.

“Dragons?”

“I heard a story about one when I was little, but I never heard the end.” His heart was racing, but he took comfort in the fact that Mark was slightly more awake. “Do you know how it ended?”

“What happened in the story?”

“There was a knight, going to save a princess in a castle, except it was guarded by a dragon.”

“What happened next?”

“I don't know,” Nicky admitted. “Do you?”

“I don't think I've heard that one, but...” Mark's eyes closed again, to Nicky's dismay. “There are lots of different stories about them, I suppose. They say they're bad luck, that they bring strife, raze villages to the ground. Once there were hundreds of them, but now they've all been killed. They're supposed to be huge, like massive serpents with the wings of a bat. Some of them breathe fire. Some of them are even bigger, and live in the sea, eating passing ships.”

“How did they die?”

“The saints drove them out. Tricked some of them... into killing themselves, slayed... others...” He trailed off, hand loosening on Nicky's hip.

“They saved us, then.”

“No.” Mark shook his head feebly, the barest heavy tilt. “Dragons were beautiful. Lived for hundreds of years in the swamps and hills. They were meant to be wise, and kind, but we hunted them. Made them cruel because we couldn't leave well enough... alone...” He sagged, lips parting, beautiful face blurring through the tears filling Nicky's eyes.

“Sleep,” he murmured.

Mark didn't need to be told. He was already gone, slumped against Nicky's side.

  
  


*

  
  


The man in black came later that night, when Nicky was already dozing. He woke to the sound of footsteps, barely made it under the bed before the door creaked open, and stayed, heart hammering, as Mark was carried away from him.

When he crept down after them, Mark had already changed, was pacing the end of the courtyard while the black dragon snarled at him.

It was vicious, that night. No sparring, no holding back. Clawing and biting and the smaller dragon trying to fight, its eyes wide and frightened, hunched in defence while it tried its best, faltering until it was driven to the ground with a last brutal swing of a black tail.

Nicky fled back to the room, his chest burning with anger and sorrow. The cavern was cool when he climbed down into it, curling up in the earth and letting it out into the darkness, the lightning bugs a dancing mockery, swelling around him with every wracking sob.

The climb back up felt an age. The room was dark, Mark in the bed again, bloodied and limp. Nicky pressed a trembling hand to his chest, saw gouges in his shoulders, dirt under his fingernails. There was blood between his nose and top lip, cracking as it dried.

Nicky cleaned him carefully. Found a cloth and dipped it in the pitcher of drinking water beside the bed, wiping away blood and muck until it was just Mark underneath, the wounds still red but the mess gone, paler than ever, blue spiderwebs painted across almost translucent eyelids.

“Wake up.” The plea croaked out from under his breath. He bit his lip to break a cry of frustration. “I'll stay,” he decided. “The others can go, but I'll stay, even if...” He closed his eyes, buried his face in his hands.

Mark didn't move. Not until dawn broke, spilling through the window like fire.

  
  


*

  
  


He left Mark early. The boy was groggy, winced when he sat up, fingers touching the wounds experimentally, though Nicky was sure they were less severe than they had been the night before. The strap-marks on his back were getting better too, and the scratch on his cheek from the previous night had almost healed, was just a red line with a scab already beginning to peel away.

Mark asked what had happened. Nicky said he didn't know, just that Mark had been fighting in his sleep, that perhaps he'd scratched himself. He didn't know how to tell him. How to even begin.

Shane and Kian asked where he'd been. He told them he'd been making arrangements, and to start gathering their things, whatever rations and equipment they could carry that wouldn't slow them down. Kian began to argue, but Shane nodded solemnly and picked up an empty sack before wandering off through the camp.

“What are you planning?” Kian asked. Nicky shook his head. There were too many ears, and he didn't want to make promises, not when he couldn't be sure.

“Trust me.”

“Why?” Kian raised an eyebrow. “I've barely seen you lately, and you won't say where you've been. Why should I?”

“Because you don't have a choice.” He didn't mean it to sound harsh. Kian nodded carefully.

“Suppose not.” He bent to pick up a sack of his own. “What are the chances of us getting out of this alive? Honestly?”

“I don't know,” Nicky admitted. “But they're better than if we stay.” He looked at his friend. “I'm sorry about the last few months. I've been...” He glanced up towards the tower, couldn't help himself, had been watching it more often lately, hoping for some sign. Something to remind him the whole thing wasn't just a dream. “I've no right to ask you to trust me.”

He was surprised when arms wrapped around him, gathering him into a hug.

“We'll always have your back,” Kian promised. “Just tell us what you need.”

“I need you to be ready by tomorrow night,” Nicky replied. Kian nodded against his shoulder.

“We can do that.” He pulled back, eyes studying. “I don't know that I do trust you, but I know you'd never hurt him.” He glanced in the direction Shane had gone. “Just promise me he'll be okay.”

“I can't promise that about any of us.” His eyes drew back to the castle again. “But I'll do my best.”

  
  


*

  
  


There was more noise from the castle that night. It was savage, angry. Fire blasted over the keep, the air ripped with shrieking bellows. Nicky even swore, through the darkness, that he saw the shadow of a wing, snapping open above the stone walls before falling back into the pit.

He went to Mark the next morning, found him curled against the wall, knees to his chest and his hands black with dirt. There were strap marks on his back, and Nicky was dismayed to see the edges of the scars had lifted slightly, looked raised and scaly around the edges, more purple than red, and his fingernails were longer, seemed almost pointed at the tips. Nicky stroked back dark hair from a face lined with three healing claw-marks.

“We go tonight,” he announced. Mark looked up with sorrowful eyes.

“Leave me.” He buried his face in his arms. “I'm too...” He heaved in a sob, and Nicky caught him, held him close. “The nightmares are terrible. I scream and I scream but I can't get out. There's so much hate and I can't...”

“I'm sorry.”

“I want to die,” Mark whispered. Nicky kissed his temple.

“Then we die together.” He touched the scars, heard a hiss. They were almost too hot. Felt swollen under the skin, every heartbeat rippling through the knotted flesh.

“What's wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” Nicky promised. Mark pulled away, eyes flashing.

“You don't believe that. How could there be nothing...” His tongue darted out to lick dry, cracked lips, and for a moment Nicky saw the flash of teeth, sharper than the day before. “What's _wrong_ with me?”

“Nothing,” Nicky said again. Crawled towards him, though Mark watched him warily until he let himself be gathered up again, pulled in to rest against Nicky's chest. “It's not your fault,” he murmured. “Whatever it is, it's not your fault.” He kissed Mark's cheek. “Don't take your sleeping draught tonight. Spit it out, pour it down your shirt, but don't drink it. I'll be here, and when they think you're asleep, we'll go. I'm going to bring some friends. We'll protect you.”

“How will you do that? I don't even...” He spread his hands in front of him, and Nicky was dismayed to see the barest sling of webbing between his fingers, the knuckles swollen knots. “I keep thinking things I don't want to. Things I want to do. Hurt people. Kill them. I want to hurt you.” He closed his eyes. “Don't let me hurt you.”

“You couldn't.”

“I could,” Mark whispered. “And worse, I think I'd like it.” He licked his lips again. “If I try to, you need to stop me. Even if it means you need to kill me.” He looked up, and for a moment Nicky saw slitted pupils, though they were gone a blink later.

“Mark...”

“Promise me. If it comes to that, you'll stop me...” He sobbed. “I'd rather die than hurt someone. Don't let me live with that. Please.”

“You're not going to hurt anyone,” Nicky promised. “I'll make sure of it.”

That didn't appear to be quite the answer Mark wanted. He nodded slowly anyway, and closed his eyes again, mouth drawn into a troubled frown. “I have to sleep,” he breathed. “Stay with me.”

Nicky agreed that he would.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Nicky left after lunch, when Mark had woken up and grudgingly eaten a few small pieces of chicken, though the bread and apples had gone into Nicky's bag, under the bed. Mark promised to fill it with anything they needed, anything they could sell, and Nicky departed with a kiss, leaving Mark sat on the bed, his eyes hollow, ringed with dark circles, skin pale and cold to the touch.

Shane and Kian were waiting when he trotted back up. There was excitement in camp. Some were staying behind to defend the castle, but more than half were kitting up, ready to meet the army before they could get close. Kian was sharpening a spear next to the fire, looked like he wanted to be prepared in case they had to go after all.

Nicky got some sleep. When he woke it was falling dark. Camp was beginning to look barer, tents and resources being packed up for the long march ahead. People were running this way and that, arguing and jostling.

He climbed out to find Shane and Kian wrapped around each other, clinging tight and their faces frightened.

It was easy to slip away. The tree was black in the falling light, a hulking figure with stretching hands. Nicky kicked aside the leaf-litter, saw their eyes widen when his friends saw the door.

“How long have you known about this?” Kian asked.

It lifted with a rusty creak, and then Nicky was motioning the others down, into the dark, watching them get swallowed up as they descended the rickety ladder. He pulled the door shut behind him, watched the sky disappear and the light blink away.

“I can't see.”

“Take my hand.” Nicky felt out, grasping the hand that curled into his. Knew Shane had grabbed Kian with the other. “Don't let go,” he ordered. “Just follow.”

They did.

  
  


*

  
  


The gasp when his friends saw the cavern wasn't unexpected. Nicky waited while they clambered down, able to see Shane's eyes shining almost bronze in the light from the lightning bugs. Kian was staring around with an open mouth.

“Where are we?”

“Under the castle,” Nicky explained. Shane touched the wall carefully. Kian crossed his arms.

“Explanation?”

“I found a way in.” He looked up. “Castle's up there. We wait here until they've all gone, and then make a break for the woods. There'll hardly be any men left, it'll be easier to slip away.”

“This is madness,” Shane mumbled. He glanced over at Nicky. “This is where you've been?”

“You could say that,” he hedged. He expected Kian to comment, but the blonde boy was making his way to the pond, dipping his fingers through the surface. Ripples spread. “We're taking someone with us. A boy, in the castle.”

“A boy?” Shane's eyes widened. “The king?”

“There is no king.” Nicky shook his head. “They lied to us. We're not fighting to save anyone. There's a prisoner, and we're getting him out.”

“We've been guarding a prisoner? Why?”

“He's not important. Not to them, anyway, he's just...” He felt his voice break, and tried to keep steady. “He's beautiful. They hurt him, but he's still so beautiful.” He saw Shane's gaze soften, then, saw Kian raise an eyebrow. “I'm sorry. I'm...”

“We'll help him.” Shane wrapped around him. Nicky hugged gratefully back, and a moment later felt Kian grudgingly squeeze his shoulder. “He's worth it, then?”

“To me he is.” Nicky managed a trembling smile. “Get some rest.” It had to be dark outside already, though in here it was hard to tell. “We'll go in the morning.”

  
  


*

  
  


He climbed the ladder slowly that night. They'd been there a few hours, at least, and he knew Mark should have been asleep by now, though they wouldn't have come to collect him yet.

When he slid out from behind the drapes Mark was sat on the edge of the bed, looking expectant. His eyes lit up when he saw Nicky, but it was a feeble light, buried in the shadows hiding beneath his eyes.

“Get dressed.” He handed Mark an extra set of clothes. They were probably a bit small, cobbled together from what he'd been able to find at camp, but Mark took them anyway, began to tug them on.

“They smell.” His nose wrinkled.

“Good. You'll blend in.” That got a smile that was almost cheeky. “We're waiting in the cave. Stay there the night, and in the morning we go.” He pulled Mark into a hard embrace, felt hands grasp weakly at his back. “You're beautiful,” he murmured. “I'll never let them hurt you.”

They descended carefully, Nicky first, steadying Mark whenever it looked like he might be losing his grip, helping him find handholds in the rock. When they finally made it to the ground Kian and Shane were looking at them expectantly, both of them sat on an upraised root that provided a decent enough seat. Mark peered shyly back from under lowered lashes.

“This is Mark,” Nicky said. “He'll be coming with us.”

“Oh.” Kian didn't look like he quite knew what to say. “Hello then.” Mark nodded back, mumbled a reply. “Er...” He looked at Shane, who stood.

“Hello.” Mark stiffened as a hug was launched at him, his eyes widening in surprise. Shane pulled back with a grin. “Want some food?”

“Er... yes please.” Nicky saw a little smile flash in the dark, white teeth that had lost their sharp edges. “Thank you.”

“Brilliant.” Shane sat back down, tugging Mark to sit gingerly beside him, and handed him a piece of salted meat from the pack at his feet. “There you go. Don't eat it all at once.” He folded his hands on his bent-up knees. “So, what's it like living in a castle, then?”

“Erm...” Mark chuckled, looking up at Nicky for approval. Nicky winked back, his heart swelling when he saw the light dancing behind blue eyes.

  
  


*

  
  


They talked into the night. Nicky hadn't seen Mark quite like this before. He was as shy as ever, keeping quiet unless he had something to say, but he was loosening up, looking less frightened, and after a while he was even laughing, tucked against Nicky's side while Kian told some ridiculous story about a priest he'd met on the road.

Nicky held him. Knew they would have discovered him missing by now, and hoped they wouldn't find the little door hidden in the drapes. Hoped they would think he'd escaped through the bedroom door and into the hallways, that they'd busy themselves with searching the castle instead.

Eventually his friends began to doze, and found a little corner of the cavern to snuggle up together. It was warm down here, no need for blankets, which was a blessing as they couldn't have lit a fire with nowhere for the smoke to escape.

Nicky sat on the upraised root, watching the lightning bugs dance while Mark sat cross-legged at his feet, tracing patterns in the earthen floor with a stick.

“Are they... ?”

Nicky smirked when he heard a soft gasp from across the room. Mark was looking up at him, his cheeks glowing pink. Nicky reached for his hand.

“Leave them be. They'll be done soon.” Mark looked like he was trying not to giggle. “We could all die tomorrow. Better to go out on a shag.” Dark hair pooled against his knee. He ran his fingers through it, felt the little adoring smile reach into his chest and squeeze.

“If we are going to die tomorrow, I'm glad I got to spend tonight with you.”

Nicky didn't know what to say, so instead he sank down off the log and pulled Mark into his arms, feeling too overwhelmed. He buried his face in a soft neck to inhale the scent of him, felt hands settle on his hips and a kiss touch his shoulder. Mark was breathing, steady and deliberate, and after a moment Nicky realised he was sniffing the air carefully, his pupils dilating when Nicky pulled back to look.

“You can smell them?”

“...a little.” Mark's cheeks were getting redder. Nicky kissed one, felt his love shiver into the touch. Reached down to stroke over his hip, felt muscle tense against his palm while he slid down to a bent knee and up again, mapping the length of Mark's thigh. “You can't?”

“No.” Probably cause for concern, but it was still Mark. He heard a shuddering gasp when his thumb slid up the crease of a groin hidden by breeches, though the front was becoming tight. There was a pinched whimper from across the room. Mark echoed it. “Come here,” Nicky croaked. Mark gasped into his neck. “Come here, love, I'll take care of you.”

He turned Mark, pulled him back. In a moment they were curled together, Nicky's back propped against his earlier seat, Mark nestled back between his open legs, head leaned against his shoulder as Nicky's hands slid lower, his bent-up knees holding Mark in while a long spine curved to his front, Mark's own legs flopped out slightly in tense invitation.

“Please,” Mark whispered.

He was always beautiful, response and touch incarnate, a heaving, arching thing. Nicky played him carefully, one hand down threadbare breeches, the other roaming over hard nipples, down a stomach that fluttered as he passed. Sucked kisses to his nape and felt Mark's hips grind back, pressure that maddened as it pulled him along.

“Nicky.” Mark jolted, twisting back for a clumsy kiss that Nicky was happy to pull him into. “Oh...”

“Lovely,” Nicky murmured, heard Mark whine. Mark felt hot in his hand, hotter against his chest. Nicky realised it was the scars, could feel the warm pulse of them, the rough gather through Mark's shirt. Wanted to cry. Was distracted by the increasingly uncontrolled tremor of the boy in his arms.

A few strokes later and he knew Mark was almost done. Felt close himself, his stomach and thighs clenching, the undertow of tense heat that pinched in his belly. Hot and overwhelmed, Mark's writhing an aphrodesiac in itself. Bit into a corded neck and felt Mark stiffen in his arms.

“Nicky...”

“That's it,” Nicky croaked. A hand clenched on his knee while a dark head rolled back, confused gasps blurting into the air and sending the lightning bugs scattering. Looked beautiful like this, pale skin cast in the glow, eyes dark and the glisten of sweat on pink cheeks. Heaved suddenly, eyes going wide.

“Nicky...!”

He heard Shane and Kian giggle, somewhere in the shadows. Knew Mark had heard too, though they both ignored them, and there was certainly no way for Mark to blush with all the blood surging lower down.

“Love you.”

“Nicky!” Eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open in a cry, and Nicky felt himself tip as his hand slickened with sudden heat. Tried to find the rhythm against Mark's back, tried to push the pressure into the right angle. Not enough though, and so close, Mark still jerking against his front, trembling through his release.

“Please,” Nicky whispered. Felt a clumsy hand reach back and bit into a sweaty shoulder that tensed with the movement of a strong grip. It was clammy with sweat, and Nicky let his eyes fall closed as Mark twisted in his arms, mouthing kisses to his jaw and ear and chin, breaths hot and quick against damp skin.

He came with a broken gasp, heard Mark's moan of triumph. Felt it, rumbling into his throat. Sagged backwards while the kisses continued, down his neck and bites peppering into the open collar of his shirt while he tried to catch his breath, still fizzing and dazed where Mark devoured him.

“Calm down, love,” he managed when he'd gotten his breath back enough to speak. “I'm done. Just...”

“Smell so good.” It was a desperate little hiccup. “Taste so good. Have to...” He whimpered, face nuzzling into Nicky's chest, and Nicky laughed in surprise when his shirt was dragged up and a nose buried itself in his navel, tongue darting out for a taste, then laving over him. “God, I can hear your _blood_ , it...” He moaned, rubbing himself against Nicky's thigh. Hard again, Nicky realised. Impossible, but there it was, halfway up the mast and rising steadily. “I can hear you.”

Nicky felt his stomach clench in sudden worry. Mark's eyes were dark, almost desperate. Hungry. He looked up, and for a moment Nicky was reminded of a wolf, circling prey.

“Stop, love,” he said carefully. Mark growled. “Stop.”

“No.” Nicky gasped as hard palms slammed suddenly into his shoulders. Mark atop him and staring down, eyes narrow and too blue, something blackened in their depths. He lowered slowly. Nicky tried not to cringe away, even as he saw a tongue dart out to swipe at pointed teeth.

“Mark...”

“Mine.” It wasn't Mark's voice. Except it was. A terrible rough thing. “Mine.”

“Mark. Stop.” He saw Mark hesitate, thought for a moment he'd gotten through. Then he realised the boy's head was tilted. Listening, to something else, something Nicky couldn't hear.

He clambered off, arms and legs moving strangely, almost like the joints were in the wrong places. He sniffed the air while Nicky lay still, chest heaving and lightheaded with fright, then headed towards the back of the cave, looking up at the trapdoor that led up to the little room where they'd spent so many months together.

“What is it?” Nicky asked. Mark didn't look back.

“They've found us,” he said with that not-Mark voice. Nicky felt his heart stop. Mark looked over his shoulder, finally, and for a moment it was Mark again, his eyes wide and frightened. “They're coming.”

  
  


*

  
  


“How do you know?”

“I just do.” Nicky scooped up his pack as the other two boys shrugged back into their clothes. Mark was stood beneath the trapdoor still, eyes trained upward, though he was twitching slightly, something anxious that clenched his fists and made his feet pace. Shane threw a nervous glance towards him.

“Is he alright?”

“He's fine. We have to get going. Mark!” The boy glanced over, and Nicky was dismayed to see his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Get your things. Let's go.”

“They're coming.”

“I know, and we don't want to be here when they do.”

“Who's coming?” Kian asked.

“You don't want to know.” Nicky threw a bag at him. “Mark!” He grabbed the boy's hand on the way past, felt him resist as he was yanked towards the wall. “Right. Up.” He was sure that he'd have to help. Mark wasn't a climber at all, not the way he and Shane were, but he was surprised to see Mark begin to scurry quickly up the earthen wall, grabbing roots and stone with an ease that Nicky was almost envious of. He paused beside the hole, clinging to the wall easily. As Nicky scaled behind him, he realised there were clawmarks in the spots Mark had grabbed, pointed little holes in the treeroots.

“Don't like it.”

“I know. Get in.” He saw Mark hesitate, knew they couldn't wait, not with Shane and Kian right behind them. “Mark, get in.”

“It's not...” He squinted, forehead pinching in pain. Nicky hesitated, saw something ripple under his skin, something that tinged along blue veins and spread outwards. His tongue darted out, almost purple in the dim light. “Something's wrong.”

“Fuck.” Nicky ducked aside, making room for the other two. They passed with confused glances, and then were into the tunnel, Kian's feet dragging over the lip. “Mark. You have to stop. Breathe.”

“Everything smells like...” A hiccuping sob came out. “Nicky, I can't...”

“Shh...” He pulled Mark close, pressed their foreheads together. “Look at me. Look at me, love. Don't think about it.” His shoulder hurt from clinging to the root above him. He held Mark with the other arm, saw blue eyes widen and deepen, silver beginning to streak through the iris as the pupil narrowed. “I love you.”

“What's happening?” His breath sounded laboured. Nicky saw him arch in sudden pain. “Nicky, what's happening?” He arched again, and Nicky felt the back of his shirt swell, his scars almost too hot to touch. “It hurts. I'm so hungry and it... it hurts.”

They both jumped at the sound of crumbling stone, a figure in black pushing himself into the cavern, a snarl on his face and golden eyes glaring from the shadow of a hood. Mark looked over his shoulder. When he looked back his face was lengthening. Nicky felt him slip from his grip, growing too large to hang onto.

“I'm...”

“I'm sorry,” Nicky whispered helplessly. “I'm so sorry.”

He backed through the tunnel and into the darkness before he could see any more, the light from the cavern blocked out by the flap of leathery wings.

  
  


*

  
  


“Where's Mark?”

Nicky ignored them, darting past with eyes streaming tears and a chest on fire, fumbling against the stone walls in the dark. There was a shriek behind them, and he felt the flood of heat through the passageway, heard the horrible scrape of claws on scale.

“What's...” Kian coughed. Nicky realised there was smoke. Realised that he could see the other two, by the glow of orange light at the end of the passageway. “We have to go back for him.”

“It's too late.” Nicky grabbed his wrist, yanked. Kian followed a moment later, Shane in tow. “We have to get out.”

“It's probably not morning yet...”

“Do you want to die down here?!” Nicky shouted, saw Shane's eyes widen in shock. “We have to get out of the fucking tunnel!” He realised he'd never seen it before, not when he'd travelled back and forth, but now he realised he knew it. Black stone, smoke pouring into the passageway and hanging heavy from the ceiling, the tunnel the only chimney to vent the fire raging in the cavern they'd left. Shane was coughing, covering his mouth. Nicky pulled his shirt up over his mouth and nose, though it didn't really help.

They ran. The tunnel was shaking, stone falling loose and the smoke thickening. It glowed suddenly bright, and he realised the fire was gaining, blasting up the tunnel with nothing to burn but nowhere else to go. It receded, but he felt it again, a swell of heat that licked at his heels.

“Go.” The ladder. Up and shoving on the door, though it didn't want to go. Hammering at it. Locked, maybe, or stuck. He shoved at it again. Shane pushed too, both of them squashed on the rungs while Kian stood at the bottom, shouting to hurry up.

“Nicky!” Shane shouted. Nicky looked down, realised his friend was yanking at his belt, at the yellow-hilted knife slung in it. The stones were glowing again. It came free. Nicky took it.

The hinges cut like they were paper, and then the trapdoor was falling in, dangling at one side from its latch, leaves cascading into the tunnel and withering in the heat before they could hit the ground. The cold fell in, then caught the heat, sucking it back up. Nicky felt all his breath leave him.

The three of them fell out of the tunnel just as a gout of flame belched from the open hole, singeing the branches of the tree above.

  
  


*****

  
  


They cleaned themselves carefully by a stream a little way into the woods. Nicky was covered in soot, his friends as well, their eyes staring out too brightly. There were tears streaked in the black mask of Kian's face. Shane kept coughing, one hand on his chest while a concerning rattling came from inside.

“What happened?” Kian croaked.

“The dragon,” Nicky whispered. “It found us.” He didn't realised he'd said it out loud, but when he looked up they were both giving him a horrified stare. He bit his lip.

“Dragon?”

“Dragon.” Nicky swallowed, felt it catch in his throat. “Oh god, I left him.” He began to cry. Hysterical sobs, maybe for the fact that he'd left Mark behind, but more for knowing he hadn't had a choice. For the fear in those blue eyes, the ones that hadn't been Mark's, at the end.

Boy, trapped in the castle by a dragon, and he'd just wanted to save him.

He'd almost killed them all, instead.

“There was a _dragon?_ ” Shane was on his feet. “An actual dragon?”

“It's what we've... been hearing. The roars. At night. The fire. It...” He choked out the words through gasping tears choked by ash. “It's what they've been protecting. They're going to turn it on the city. Kill everyone.” Kian was covering his mouth in horror. “They think we're rats. They want us all dead.”

“The king...”

“Is dying.” Nicky covered his ears, sure he could still hear Mark's cries of pain. “They're going to clear us all out, and then they're going to take over everything. Thousands of people...” He realised, suddenly. Families and children, in every kingdom. Maybe their armies were the enemy, but not the farmers, their wives, honest people like his own family who didn't care about a lord's squabbles and just wanted to put food on the table.

Sweet, kind Mark, who'd never wanted to hurt anyone.

“We have to warn them,” Kian said. Nicky shook his head.

“I don't know if we have time.” He looked up. Saw the two of them exchanging worried looks. It was almost dawn, and the camp was buzzing over the ridge, the clank of armour and weapons as the men formed rank. “I'm sorry. I thought it would work. I didn't...” He had known, though. That Mark was unstable, not necessarily safe. Had loved him so much he'd been able to lie to himself. “We have to run.”

“We do.” Kian splashed another handful of water onto his face. “Come on.”

  
  


 


	11. Chapter 11

It was raining. Had been raining, for long hours. They let it cover them, the puddles washing away their footsteps, drowning out the noise of them moving away from camp and through the woods, headed away from the armies and back towards the road, icy water cascading down their necks and mud up to their ankles.

Midday came and went in disguise, barely noticed in in the purple clouds. It was a blessing, maybe, hid the tears that kept swelling up, coming out in mournful gasps. They'd recede for a while, and then be back, a sudden choking burst of loss. Of guilt.

Of hope, maybe, that this wasn't it. That he'd see Mark again, get another chance to save him.

A stupid dream, probably, but then dreams apparently did come true, though not the ones he'd wanted.

“We could go back?” Shane suggested feebly. “Maybe he hid? If he was in the pond, or...”

“He wasn't in the pond.” Nicky closed his eyes, for the moment he could spare to take them off the tangled path they were walking. “You know he wasn't.”

“No,” Shane admitted. An arm slipped around his waist. Nicky sagged into it, felt a kiss brush his hair. “I'm sorry, Nicky. He was definitely sweet on you. I liked him.”

“Me too.” It came out a broken croak. “Fuck.” He cringed at the sudden roll of thunder, the snap of lightning. Kian's arm came around his other side, draping across his shoulder. “I'm sorry I lied to you. I didn't want anyone to find out, didn't want him to get hurt. We should have been gone months ago, like you said, but...” He shook his head. “I can't ask you to forgive me.”

“You've never needed to ask,” Shane promised. Kian stayed blessedly silent. “We'll head back to the city, raise the alarm. It'll be okay.”

“Who's going to believe us?”

“We'll find someone.” Nicky nodded, though he didn't believe it. He suspected none of them did. “Should I mention that the knife cut through those hinges? I told you there was something up with it. That's not right.”

“I know.” The knife had stopped glowing, was back to it's old self. Nicky patted it carefully, felt Kian pull away again, then duck ahead to peer through the trees. It was best to be on the alert, at least until they were far enough away. “It helped us.”

“I don't know that it cares about us. Did you see the way it glowed? It did that last time, when I killed the guard. I'm sure of it.” He bit his lip. Nicky didn't know how to reply to that. “What do you think it means? Is it magic?”

“I don't know.” Nicky took his hand away from it. Shane let go of his waist with a last squeeze. “I believe you, though. You didn't kill the guard.” When he looked up he was getting a look of relief, of still-raw regret. “I'd never think you could, not on purpose.” He took Shane's hand, saw Kian motion for them to come ahead slowly.

“What is it?” Shane asked. Kian looked tense, was crouching down towards the muddy ground, peering through the bushes.

“There's a carriage,” Kian said. “I've seen it before.” Nicky sidled over, moving lower as he reached the edge of the woods and peered through, trying to see past the rain.

He'd seen that carriage before too, the one dragged by black horses, the king's standard painted in gold on the doors.

He'd never seen the one behind it, the ones with no windows, a small grille of bars set into the door, the one reinforced with hammered steel and pulled by horses that looked frightened, rearing and foaming as they drove furiously ahead of the whip.

Nicky felt his heart give a leap of hope.

Then the carriage was gone, winding through the wooded hills.

  
  


*

  
  


It felt strange to be on the road again, after so long sat idle at camp. Everything else aside, it was quite comfortable, stretching his legs and the late-winter sky bright blue above them, clouds woven through it like thread on a loom, stitched into the heavens. The air was clean and cold, not filled with smoke or the smell of a hundred cooking pots and the sweat and grime of the men.

They found themselves approaching a small village on the morning of the second day, gratefully sat down at a table in the local tavern, such as it was. Kian gave the bartender a few coin he'd won at dice for a place to rest for a few hours. They spent the rest of the day asleep in the loft, though when they woke in the afternoon Nicky felt like it hadn't been nearly enough, no matter how deep it had been. Exhaustion was in his bones, filling them like cold lead.

They collected their things and went downstairs for a hot meal before they departed, all peeling strips off a greasy thing that might once have been chicken.

They didn't talk about any of it. Too dangerous, when anyone might be listening in. Nicky was glad. He didn't know what to say.

Night was falling when they began to walk again. There had been nobody going their way, but the bargirl had said there were often travellers at the larger village a few miles away, doing trips back and forth from the city with wares, and they might find some help there.

The stars were a spin above them. Nicky watched, as they walked. He tried to see what Mark had, the heroes and monsters sketched into the blackness, but it was big and confusing and without the outlines he couldn't tell one from the other.

“What are you singing?”

Nicky realised he'd been humming without realising. They all did it on the road, often turning into a singalong when one of them picked up a tune they knew. “Nothing. It was a song Mark sang me once. I don't know all the words.”

“It's pretty.”

“It is.” He smiled down at his feet, felt tears ache behind his cheeks. “He knew good songs. About adventures and romance and things. He'd see them in the stars.” Nicky looked up again. A piece of black cheese-cloth held in front of a candle, it looked like, pinpricks of light making it through the spaces. “There.” He saw one suddenly, didn't know how he'd missed it before. “That's the sea god, riding on his horse. And that's the boastful queen, who sacrificed her daughter after her pride made the gods angry. The princess was saved by a hero who used the head of a monster to turn everyone to stone, including the king and queen.”

“Serves them right, giving up the princess like that.”

“Don't know. Maybe they didn't think they had a choice,” Kian pointed out. “My mam probably wanted me. Didn't change anything.” He looked up at the stars as well. He'd never known his mam, Nicky knew, had been found in the church, still bloody from the birth, wailing and hungry. He'd stayed there until he'd been ten, running errands and learning music from one of the lasses at the convent. “What sort of monster?”

“One with snakes in her hair. He killed her, though that was in a different story. Mark could tell them better than I could.” He felt his chin tremble. Shane's hand slipped into his. It didn't make it better. “He was good at stories.”

“My man used to tell me stories,” Shane said. “When I was small. There was one about a lass who turned all her husband's children into swans because she was jealous of them. Or there was the man who only had to suck his thumb if he needed to know something, and he'd know it right away, like magic.”

“His thumb?”

“That's what my mam said.” He looked up at the stars. “Suppose it could be true. I always thought dragons were made up, but...” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Maybe...” Nicky held his hand tighter. “That night the house burned down, I said I'd seen something, but nobody believed me. And that noise...” He licked his lips fretfully. “You don't think...”

“I don't know,” Nicky admitted. “Suppose anything's possible.”

“They said it was just the fire, but I saw eyes, big and gold. They said it was just the soot and the wind, but... I saw wings. I was sure of it.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Fire doesn't do what happened to my mam. Not normal fire. Not like that.” He let out a low sob. Kian gathered him from the other side in a hug. “That... thing. It...” He swallowed. “I tried to tell the people at the big house, but they turned me away. We were faithful to them for years, my mam and sisters working there, but they didn't care. Not for a second. They just cared about their hunts and their parties and their spoiled little brats.” There was real venom in his voice, this time. “My dad lost an eye on one of their stupid hunts, and he died a week later, and they didn't _care_.”

Nicky let go of Shane's hand in surprise. Shane fell to Kian's shoulder instead, the other boy wrapping Nicky's friend in a hug.

  
  


*

  
  


It was another two days before they made it within sight of the city. Still miles away, but Nicky could see the shadow of it, the top of the palace, the meandering line of the city walls through the dawn mist that had been steadily evaporating, leaving their skin tacky and their clothes damp.

They took the long way around, avoiding the gatehouses and patrols. By the time they climbed the hill through the woods, Nicky thought he could sleep for a year. Feet throbbing, back aching. Kian had started limping the night before, and it was getting steadily worse, he leaning on Shane's shoulder and stumbling when the ground got soft and muddy.

Night was falling when they slid through an unpatrolled gap near the east bridge. The smell hit him first, the rank stench of shit, animals, and stewing mystery food. He covered his mouth, sure it had gotten worse, then realised he'd just gotten used to not being in it all hours of the day. Kian coughed. Shane was wrinkling his nose.

It looked... smaller, somehow. Cobbled streets and high walls, buildings falling down and crammed in on top of each other. They kept their heads low and stuck to the shadows, Kian leading the way as he was the least likely to draw suspicion. Nicky wasn't sure if the guards were still looking for them, six months later, but it was better to be safe. They didn't need to be clapped in irons or taken to the chopping block.

“What now?” Shane whispered. It was a good question. Kian glanced over his shoulder. “Who's going to believe us? We're just going to walk up to the king and tell him about dragons?”

“We find Bryan,” Nicky decided.

“You don't trust Bryan.”

“Not in the slightest,” Nicky sighed. “But I don't think we have a choice.”

  
  


*

  
  


The marketplace was busy. It was strange, edging through the crowd again, hearing people shouting and dickering, children everywhere and pushing through the spaces between people's legs. Nicky saw one of them lift a purse from a belt and allowed himself a smirk, saw the cheeky scamp grin and dash away.

Bryan looked up as they approached, opened his mouth to start the usual spiel. Then Nicky saw his eyes widen, open mouth sag for a moment in surprise. He'd rallied himself by the time they reached the table, greeting them with a wary smile.

“Lads.” He was looking at Shane, particularly. Nicky didn't like it. “Been a while.”

“Bryan.” He'd spotted the knife, Nicky would wager, from the tongue that darted out when Bryan's eyes dropped to his belt. “Talk to you?”

“Busy.” He was. It was strange. When they'd left the markets had been almost deserted, everyone inside and frightened of the guards, but it seemed everyone was out tonight. Nicky wondered what had happened in the last six months. Maybe things had calmed down.

He jumped as he heard a trill of music on the other side of the marketplace, a scream of laughter. “What's going on?”

“Festival.” Bryan shrugged. “All week. There's all sorts going on. The mummers are back in town, there's dancing up near the palace and they're letting kiddies into the menagerie free of charge. There's games as well, and the brothels are open again.” He grinned. “Bit of a turn in luck, isn't it? I was thinking I was going to have to move on to somewhere else, the way things were getting around here.”

“I thought they were closing the brothels?”

“And everything else.” Bryan smiled. “This is nothing. Tomorrow night's the big event. Raffle in the square, a thousand gold coins. I'd say everyone in town's got a ticket. Might have two, some of us.” The smile turned into a beam. “Suppose we worried for nothing. New king seems a good sort after all.”

“New king?” Kian asked. Bryan nodded.

“Yeah. That's what the festival's for. They're crowning him tomorrow night.”

“And... everyone's going to be in the same place tomorrow night.”

“I'd say so. A few burglars might take the opportunity with the houses empty, but they'd be mad to miss out on the raffle.” He must have realised the three of them were exchanging looks, because the cheer started to trickle from his face. Nicky was sure his own face was dark fright. “Why? What's going on?” Shane swore under his breath. “What is it?”

Nicky swallowed hard.

“We really need to talk.”

  
  


*

  
  


Bryan's house was smaller than Nicky had expected, considering how much money had moved through it over the years. It was nicely turned out, of course, swept floors and soft chairs, candles burning in niches on the walls, giving the whole place a soft yellow glow. They found a place near the hearth, and Nicky was grateful when Bryan brought out a plate of bread drizzled in oil and gravy. He snatched a piece, saw Shane begin to gnaw into his own.

The story poured out quickly. Bryan sat in the chair, hands folded over his lap, silent and nodding while the three of them talked over each other, adding little comments and details the others had forgotten. When it was done he leaned forward in his chair, face grim.

“Lads...” He ran a hand over his face. “So, you're telling me there's a dragon.”

“Three,” Nicky interrupted. “Three... dragons. The black one, the blue one and... another one. Somewhere else.” He'd left out about Mark, just said he'd seen the two fighting, heard them talking. There was nothing to be gained, and he couldn't bear the thought of Mark being thought of as a monster, blamed for... “I don't know where the other one is.”

“But you think tomorrow night they're going to...”

Nicky nodded. “Makes sense. Why else would they give away all that coin? It's bait. They mean to...” He felt a shiver run up his spine. “You haven't seen them, Bryan. They could kill everyone. There's no way to fight back, not against something like that.”

“And you lads have seen them too?”

“Yes.” Kian nodded. “Or... no. I mean, not really.” He looked at Nicky apologetically. “We heard them, though. And there was the fire. That was real enough.” He bit his lip.

“We believe Nicky,” Shane agreed. “What else could it be?”

“Obviously it's a dragon, then.” There was a hint of sarcasm in Bryan's voice. His eyes kept darting back to the knife. “I gave you lads a job, you fucked up and killed a guard, disappeared for half a year, and now you're back with this ridiculous story? What do you want me to say?”

“That you'll help us. That you'll believe us.” Shane put down the remains of his crust. “People listen to you Bryan.”

“And what am I supposed to tell them? That everybody needs to get out of the city because there might be a dragon that one person saw? A thief, no less?” He crossed his arms. “You'll be giving that knife back, by the way. Do you know how much trouble I went through when it went missing? That was a job, lad. Bought and paid for.”

“It...” Nicky put his hand over it, not sure what to say. It made him uncomfortable, certainly, but part of him felt almost attached to it, after all this time. It had saved their lives. He didn't like the thought of something that powerful leaving his side. “Help us and you can have it back.”

“Give it back or I'll call the city watch,” Bryan retorted. Shane made a soft moan of protest. Kian stood, already looking ready for a fight.

“Bryan...”

“Sit down, Kian. You're attacking a man in his house. Bad manners.” He reached out his hand. “Knife.”

“Who's it for?” Nicky asked, sure suddenly that it couldn't just be a random job. This was power, wouldn't have been asked for by someone who wasn't aware of what it could do. “Who paid for it, Bryan?”

“None of your business.”

“Tell me, or I'm keeping it.”

“I doubt it'll be up to you.” Bryan studied him for a moment, gaze narrowing. Nicky stared defiantly back. “Fine,” he sighed. “Nobleman asked for it. Said it belonged to him. Tall lad, in a grey cloak.” Nicky felt his heart freeze in his chest. “Family heirloom, or some such.” He kicked off his left shoe, and Nicky's eyes widened when he saw the badly-healed stump of a missing toe. “Made me choose between this and a finger, so when I tell you I need the knife back, believe me, I'm not bluffing.” He slid the shoe back onto his foot.

“Grey cloak?” Nicky felt breathless. Bryan was still holding his hand out. “That was the man. The one who said they were going to...” He stood. “Bryan, you can't...”

“Give me the knife, Nicky.”

“But...” He heard a soft gasp, looked at Shane, at the line of his stare. Looked down. Glowing, against his hip, the yellow stones pulsing with an inner light. Bryan was staring as well. Kian.

“Shit,” Nicky breathed. Brighter and brighter, like yellow suns on his belt.

“What's it doing?” Bryan asked.

“It knows it's owner's here.” It was a voice, from the doorway. They all jumped, looked around. “Thank you, Bryan. I'll take it from here.” Black eyes peered up from under a grey cloak, over a long nose and twisted smile. “I believe you have something of mine.”

“Where's Mark?” Nicky blurted. He saw a narrow gaze widen in surprise. “Where is he? What did you do to him?”

“How would you know about that?” The man's voice was a hiss, wound around them like a snake. It was a voice with fangs. Nicky saw Kian shudder. The man was a slither, appeared in front of him before Nicky could see him move. A skeletal hand wrapped around his chin, holding him still. “You know more than you should, boy.”

“I know what you're going to do.”

“Do you?” He tilted his head, and when Nicky felt the knife lift from his belt he felt too frozen to stop it, hypnotised by eyes that seemed to be all pupil, drops of ink in grey sockets. “Thank you, my dear, for taking care of it for me.” The grin was yellowed teeth, though the eyes didn't change. “You'll be justly rewarded.”

Hands closed on his shoulders. When Nicky looked up, finally broken from his trance, it was to look at a large man behind him, dressed in armour. Shane and Kian were struggling in the grips of two others.

“What about me, yeah?” Bryan piped up. “Found them for you, didn't I?”

“You completed the original job six months late,” the man hissed. Bryan flinched. “Would you like me to take five more toes?”

“No sir. Thank you sir.” He sat down. Nicky glared at him. Bryan wouldn't look him in the eye.

They were dragged from the house, the grey man slithering ahead of their struggling procession with his hands folded behind his back, long fingers threaded together and cloak fluttering behind him.

  
  


 


	12. Chapter 12

In all his years thieving and pickpocketing, Nicky had never been to the high dungeon. Base lock-ups, of course, and the occasional dirty prison, but this was different. Those were warnings, cells that could be easily snuck out of before morning, but this room, these stone walls without light or windows, this was somewhere to be forgotten.

It didn't sound half bad, really. He was sure he deserved it.

He could hear the others, crying somewhere in the darkness. Hear Kian trying to comfort Shane, tell him that it would be okay, that of course they were going to get out of here, but Nicky could hear the empty meaning in his words. There was no getting out of here. It was a tomb, sealed with a heavy gate, a coffin without enough space to sit.

Someone a few cells down was laughing. Cackling hysterically, in between broken snippets of garbled songs. Nicky wondered how long he'd been down here. How long it took to go that mad.

There was a scream, from somewhere above them. The sound of bone cracking.

“Nicky?”

“I'm here,” he promised. “I'm...” Sorry. He was sorry. Because no matter what they'd been, what they'd done, Shane didn't deserve to die here. Not like this. “I'll think of something.”

Shane didn't reply. There was nothing to say that didn't sound like they were lying to themselves.

How long they stayed there Nicky didn't know. He grew hungry. Cramped, from being forced to stand. He tried leaning against the walls, but they were cold and damp, and he began to shiver. Hungrier still. Shane stopped crying. Started again, hours later. The soul in the other cell screamed for awhile, his shrieks echoing around the room. Kian shouted for him to shut up, shut up, shut up. Water dripped somewhere, an echoing blight on the stone.

“I'm sorry,” Nicky whispered. He wasn't sure who he was saying it to.

It felt years later that light flooded the room. Nicky lifted his hand to shield it, saw the hulking shape of a man fill the doorway, then press into the darkness. The cell at the end of the room opened, and the shrieking man at the end was dragged out.

The door closed again, but not before Nicky saw a scarred face, a missing hand, and a foot that dangled limply at the end of an obviously broken leg. It was minutes later that they heard screaming again.

“Oh.” It was panicked, from nearby. “Oh god, oh. Oh god.” He heard Shane sob. “Oh god. Please.” They jumped at a sudden slam above them, the scream cut off. Gurgles, now. “Please,” Shane mumbled, terror in his voice.

Nicky covered his ears, closing his eyes against the darkness.

  
  


*

  
  


It was morning. Nicky didn't know how he knew, but when the screaming man was brought back to his cell, there was a certain quality to the light that snuck in through the briefly open door, something that spoke of sunlight and not torches.

The gate beside them clicked. Nicky could hear breathing, high and pained.

“It's today.” Kian. Nicky looked towards him, wishing he could see him, just for a moment. See anyone. “Tonight they're going to...”

“I know.” Nicky closed his eyes in defeat. “I know.”

“Why haven't they killed us yet? They're going to kill everyone else. Why...?”

“I don't know,” Nicky admitted. “I really don't.” He was cold in the little cell. Hunger and pain had become numbness. Every breath froze in his chest.

“I don't want to die like that,” Kian whispered.

“No.” Nicky gulped. “Funny, I always thought I was going to get a knife in the back, running away from a guard. I never thought...” He shifted, felt blood rush painfully into legs that hadn't moved in long hours, prickles of agony. “Never thought I was important enough to torture, honestly.” He laughed, slightly hysterically. “I'm sorry, Kian. You were better than this. I never meant to...”

“I was the one who wanted to go,” Kian said firmly. “Despite everything, it's my fault just as much as yours. You were trying to do the right thing.” He sighed. “Shane?” The reply was quiet, lost in the echoes of the dripping water. “I know this isn't the right time to say it, but... I love you. If I never get another chance...”

“I know.” Shane's voice cracked. Nicky felt a lump fill his own throat. “I love you too.”

“I meant it. I would have wanted a life with you, even if it was a stupid farm in the middle of nowhere.”

“I would have taught you to ride a horse.”

“I would have been dreadful at it,” Kian chuckled. “But I would have been happy with you. I am... happy with you.” Nicky felt his smile reach across the room, felt Shane's touch it in return. “If we get out of this, that's what we'll do. I promise you that.” They all looked up at the sound of footsteps on the stone stairs in the passageway. “Shane...”

“I know,” Shane whispered. Nicky felt his heart break.

Light spilled into the room. By the time he blinked it away, Nicky's cell was unlocked and there was a hand on his arm.

He was dragged from the room and out of the dark, feet stumbling on stone stairs until his friends cries of protest were cut off by the slam of a heavy door.

  
  


*

  
  


It was late. Afternoon, if the light from the high coloured windows was anything to judge by. Nicky didn't know if they were in the palace, could only guess by the halls he was led through, the ones that looked like they had more money in every inch of them than Nicky had ever seen in his entire life. Tapestries, embroidered carpets, chandeliers hung from the ceiling and dripping bronze and candlelight.

The guard didn't speak. Not a city guard, a palace one for certain, his armour as ceremonial as it was functional, inlaid with gold detail and his helmet and breastplate polished to shining. There wasn't much to do but be dragged along, nowhere else to go. Maids and servants looked up disinterestedly, then averted their eyes as they went past, up a winding staircase and into a courtyard. He was thrown to the ground, yelped as a shackle was snapped around his ankle, connecting him to a spike driven into the stone.

It wouldn't give, when he yanked. Tethered here, in the rapidly darkening courtyard, the door slamming as the guard departed. Late winter, and the sun set early, the sky a boiling wreck of grey clouds. He yanked at the chain again, letting out a cry of effort.

“Don't bother,” a snake-like voice said. Nicky didn't have to turn to know the flutter of a cloak. Two, he realised, when he finally looked. One black, golden eyes peering from underneath, the other grey and almost faded into the angry sky. The wind was vicious up here, far above the ground, above the city, though he knew nobody could see him.

“Where's Mark? Where are my friends?”

“You know where your friends are.” There was a laugh in the grey man's voice. “As for Mark... he's been very talkative, since you left him down in that cave. It's sweet, really, the thief sneaking in and out through the secret passageway, telling him lies about romance and escaping into the night.” The smile thinned. “Imagine his heartbreak when you abandoned him.”

“I didn't...” Nicky pushed himself to his feet. “I never did. What you did to him, that was...”

“Locking him away so he couldn't hurt anyone else? Protecting him from the monster he was becoming?” The grey man leaned in close, smirking while Nicky tried to swing at him from the end of a taut chain. “I only wanted to keep him safe.”

“You...”

“You told him, of course. Because you love him so much.”

“That's diff...”

“Yes. Well, I'm sure he sees it that way.” The grey man stood straight again, the knife in his belt swinging slightly, the stones aglow. “Inconsolable, of course. Then we explained it to him. How his parents had put him into our care, how we just wanted to help him, find a cure. And you, an enemy spy, trying to use him for your own devices. Trying to keep him from getting help.”

“You bastard,” Nicky breathed. The man in black smirked. “You...” He felt the impact, his face whipping to the side as he was backhanded by black and gold scales. When he looked back up he was stinging, the taste of blood thick in his mouth. “We're not rats, you prick. We're people. You can't just...”

“No.” The grey man frowned. “Rats have more use.” He headed towards the door, leaving Nicky straining at his shackles, trying to wriggle from the metal ring around his foot. Clamped tight, wouldn't budge. It was starting to rain, the stone getting slippery beneath him. “You're lucky, you know,” he commented over his shoulder. “At least it will be quick. Your friends will suffer for days.” The man in black grinned. “You can think about that until I come back, boy.”

The door slammed.

Nicky looked up at the sky, his tears mixing with the rain.

  
  


*

  
  


It was almost night. Nicky could hear it down below, the beginnings of the festivities. He'd screamed, for a while, but nobody had heard. Now his voice was raw and he was lain in a spreading puddle, hair floating about his cheek and the rain coming down harder. It hadn't seemed to stop the fun. There was shouting and laughter, music that all blended into a cacophony of noise on the air. A song he knew, that he found himself tearfully singing along to, the rainwater seeping into the corner of his mouth like a flooded river into a stone crack.

He waited. For the gouts of fire, for the shriek of dragons. But all he could hear was good humour and companionship, excitement for the night ahead.

It had just gone full dark, the moon a bright coin nestled between sprinkled stars, when the door cracked open and four figures stepped out.

“I've brought you a gift, boy.” It hissed through the rain. Nicky looked up, eyes a plea.

Black cloak, grey cloak, and beside them a green one, hood drawn up to shadow long dark hair and a pretty bow mouth, hazel eyes peering from underneath. A girl, Nicky realised, not much older than himself. She looked frightened behind a stoic gaze, hands folded at her waist.

The boy in the blue hood looked up at him.

“Mark, I...”

The black hand cracked across his face again, striking the growing bruise from earlier that afternoon. He was dazed, for a moment, and when he looked up it was into a glare.

“You lied to me.”

“I didn't...”

“You knew what I was.”

“I... I wanted to protect you.”

“You tried to use me. They said Shane admitted it. That you planned to take me to the enemy, to kill all those people. You had the knife. All along and I never knew...” His lip trembled slightly, voice cracking on the words. “How could you...”

“They're _lying_.”

“No. You are.” It was a whisper. Sorrowful eyes blinked at him through the darkness, and Nicky saw a pupil narrowing into a line. “You only ever lied to me. You made me...” He bit his lip. “You...”

“They kept you locked in a room for years without telling you _why._ That's not protection. That's...” Mark was blinking at him slowly, lashes webbed by the rain. “I love you. I don't care what you are, I just loved _you_.”

“Enough talk,” the grey man interrupted. “He's sentenced to death. By order of the king. His friends are being tortured in the dungeon for their secrets.” He looked at Mark. “This is what you were born for, boy. This is your family.” His hand fell to Mark's shoulder. “For the kingdom.”

“For the...” Mark hesitated suddenly, hand going to rub a pinched forehead.

“No mercy.”

“No... mercy.” When he looked up his face was narrowing, shoulders arching and the cape pushing out, spreading to allow scarred wing to smooth and grow, scales hardening in his cheeks and throat. His head tilted.

“No...” Nicky backed away. There was no feeling there, in those eyes, as clawed hands tipped forwards to brace on the earth, as a tongue darted out through pointed teeth. “Mark...”

His only reply was a snort. He flinched back, felt the great beast stalk towards him, the weight of him bearing down in lazy steps, long neck stretching as it got it's bearings in the rooftop courtyard, tail lengthening to curl on the stone beside it, triangular head bending to peer down at him.

“Finish him,” the grey man ordered. The Mark-dragon snorted again. “Kill the spy.”

“No.” Nicky looked up, saw a glassy eye fix on him, growing as it bent lower towards him, it's breath a furnace. “Mark...” He saw the dragon hesitate, saw the pupil fix on him, tongue dart out for the barest moment, so close he could almost touch it. Great crooked teeth revealed in a snarl, almost as tall as him, the slightest crack chipped into the front one. A huge nostril flared.

There was a growl that felt bigger that the world, thrumming around him and almost parting the rain.

“I love you,” Nicky said quietly. Felt the dragon pause again. “I'm sorry. I never meant to lie to you. I was just so frightened.” He took in a deep breath. “I didn't want you to know, because this isn't who you are. I never wanted you to think this was who you are.” He reached out carefully as he opened his eyes, felt his hand connect with an enormous scale that stretched around his palm, just above a curling lip.

“If you have to kill me, do it.” He looked up, trying not to think of Shane and Kian down in the dungeons, of what might be happening to them. Was glad, almost, that they had each other. Hoped it would at least be quick. “I won't think any less of you. You'll always be my Mark.” He forced himself to his feet, other hand stroking over the immense upper lip. “Probably for the best. I was never any good for this world, anyway.”

He looked up, saw eyes narrow slightly.

“Hurry up!” a voice barked. Nicky saw gold eyes flash in the darkness, yellow stones through the rain. “Finish it.”

When he looked up the mouth was widening, teeth baring.

His eyes squeezed shut as he was engulfed in a hot mouth that smelled of ash and death.

  
  


*

  
  


It was wet, in here. Too hot. When Nicky opened his eyes he could see the dark hollow of a throat, smell the acid and fire belching up through it, a pit through the flash of light dancing past the uneven gaps in teeth, the tongue beneath him curling, bowing to hold him still while he clung to it's sticky length, trying to stop himself being tipped into the terrible furnace.

He lifted, felt the whole world tilt. Screamed, feet kicking as they scraped the inside of those pointed teeth, felt the roll and screamed again, trying not to throw up when when saw the world below him for the barest moment, the city far beneath and nothing between he and the ground but sky and a the slick gape of the monster's mouth.

A clawed hand grapped him, tugging him free while he fought to hang on. Then he was dangling over the city, wrapped in talons that cut through his clothes, held beneath a pale purple-blue belly while a long neck cut through the clouds above, as they passed the city wall, the streets giving way to fields, the fields to woods.

They landed carefully, Nicky's eyes shut until he was sure they were on solid ground.

“Oh god.” He wasn't entirely sure he hadn't pissed himself. The claws let him go, and he collapsed onto the dirt, curling up into a frightened ball. “Oh god.” The shackle was still hanging from his ankle, along with a foot of chain. He was crying, he realised, though he didn't know how to stop. There was a leathery thump behind him, the stalk of feet through mud.

“Nicky?” It sounded almost confused. When he around Mark was stood behind him, his hood back and puddled around his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“Oh fuck,” Nicky breathed. “I...” He swallowed back broken tears. “I thought...”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.” Tired and sore and hungry, but no. “I... I'm cold.”

“Oh. Er...” Mark sidled closer, sank to his knees. He was moving a little clumsily, but when Nicky looked up his eyes were kind. The blue cloak spread around Nicky's shoulders, damp but thick enough to be warm. Mark fastened it at his throat. Underneath was a tunic the same colour, dark breeches disappearing into blue and silver boots. “Better?”

“You didn't eat me.”

“No. Well... of course not.” The teeth that peeked between full lips were square and perfect, a shy smile. “You're lucky, hanging onto my tongue like that. I thought I was going to gag and set you on fire or something.” He touched his jaw with a slight wince of pain. “I missed you.”

“I... oh god.” He leapt into a hug, felt arms wrap tight around him. Breathed in the scent of Mark, clean and rich and sweet. A kiss pressed just below his ear. He shivered against it, felt a hand stroke at his back, beneath the cloak. “I'm so sorry. I never meant...”

“I know.” When he pulled back there were tears in Mark's eyes. When you left me, I was frightened. So frightened, but...” His hand pressed over Nicky's chest. “They tried to tell me you were a spy, that you'd lied to me. But you'd only ever been kind. I couldn't believe for a moment that they were my family.” A hand cupped Nicky's cheek. “They made me change. Over and over again, until it felt like my bones were going to break, until it felt like my skin was ripping open. It hurt so badly, but they didn't care, they just wanted me to get control over it, so I could use it. For them.”

“I'm sorry.” Their foreheads pressed together. “I wasn't fast enough.”

“It's not your fault.” Soft eyes studied his. “I was going to kill myself tonight. Stop it from happening. They dragged me up to the roof. I didn't know...” A hungry peck sucked at Nicky's mouth. “It takes a minute to change. I think we got a head-start, lost them in the clouds, but they'll find us. Find me.” He pulled Nicky in close. “I'll change back. We'll go. I can carry you, as far away as we can get, until we can find somewhere to blend in, maybe start over. We can find a home.” He looked up earnestly. “You and me, like you said.”

“It sounds perfect,” Nicky whispered. The smile that spread across Mark's face was sunlight. “We can't.”

“Why not?”

“They're going to kill everyone. We can't just leave them.”

“Why not? They don't care about us. About you.” Mark didn't look sure, though, and Nicky knew he was too kind to really believe what he was saying. “We were forced into this. We don't have to be what they say.”

“If we let it happen, we'll both be monsters,” Nicky replied. “Dragon or not, we might as well have killed them ourselves.” Full lips pursed. “Shane and Kian are in the dungeon. I can't just...”

“We can't do anything for them.”

“Maybe not,” Nicky admitted. “You got me free. I'm grateful.” He pushed himself to his feet. “If you don't want to go back, I'll understand, but I have to. I'm not running any more.” He unclasped the cloak, handed it back. “This is yours.”

“It is.” A shaking hand took it, then tightened on thick embroidered fabric. “Okay.” He swung it around his shoulders. Nicky helped him do the clasp back up, kissed a nervous frown. “The king's crowned at midnight. That's when they attack.” He pulled Nicky into a hard hug. Nicky held him in return, then pulled away, taking his hand, was surprised when Mark stood his ground.

“You're coming?”

“Yes. But...” Blue eyes danced for a moment, excited. “Would you prefer I carried you, or do you want to hang on?”

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky was certain he was screaming, though he couldn't hear himself. The wind rushed past too quickly, felt like being swept in the rapids of a river, the current sucking at him until he was sure he was going to be yanked away. It was cold up here, his arms brittle where they clung to the talon wrapped around his midsection, the others cradling him carefully from beneath. The best Mark could do, probably, though it didn't mean Nicky liked it.

“Can we go slower?” he shouted. Saw Mark glance down, and enormous eyes lock onto him for a moment before returning to the horizon.

They slowed, just a little. Nicky was sure he was going to be sick. Too high up, the fires from the world down below as bright and sparse as the stars above, twinkling through the darkness. Fences and rivers cut around them like the heroes in Mark's book, telling stories wherever they lay. And above them, the horse and the raven and the hounds, rising from the hills and painting the sky.

He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Peered carefully down and felt the claw on his waist tighten enough to hold him steady. Looked up to see a huge stretching neck, a pointed head, splitting the air gracefully like a swan through still water.

Not a monster. Not for a moment. Swaying slightly, riding the wind, the wings draped across the sky. A huge, precious thing, part of a world who'd been told to fear it, but up here, so far above the lies and the hate and the mistrust, Mark was beautiful, wearing his second skin as easily as his first, different parts of him knitted together instead of shut away in a tower to rot in loneliness.

Nicky ran his hand up a scaled arm, as far as he could reach, saw Mark glance down again in something that was almost a smile.

They dipped low, as they approached, gliding around the bottom end of the city, into the hills beyond. There were no farms up here, the land too rocky to build, and they landed in a dip that shielded them from the lights of the town. It had stopped raining, but the sky was still thick with cloud, and when Nicky was put down it was knee-deep into a large puddle that soaked through his clothes in an instant.

It was odd, watching Mark change back. Shrinking and folding until he was just Mark, stood in the puddle, though he swayed slightly, looking disoriented, and before Nicky could stop him fell on his arse in the water with a splash.

“Whoops.” He laughed, and after a moment Nicky had to join in. “Still getting landings right. Haven't had much practice at flying.” He grinned up. “Alright?”

“Going to have to figure out a way to stay warm, if we're going to do that again.” He reached out a hand to help Mark up, heaving when he stumbled a little in the wet. “Bit high up for me. The view's pretty, at least.”

They helped each other up the muddy embankment, Nicky clambering over the rocks and reaching out to pull Mark up. “I like it,” Mark said. “I got to do it, a little, on the way. Not too high, but...” He smiled. “It feels like nobody can hold me down, you know?”

“You could understand me and everything?”

“Yes. And... no. It's hard to explain. It's like there's two of me, but they're the same person. I can't talk, and words don't really make sense, not the way they do when I'm like this but...”

“So when we were on the roof, you didn't know what I was saying?”

“I did. Or... the sounds didn't really matter so much as I could feel what you meant. It was bigger than words. It was your heartbeat, and your smell, and... I know it sounds strange, but I could taste what colour you were, and you were just this perfect swirl of pinks and oranges and blues, but still Nicky.”

“What am I now?”

“Still Nicky,” Mark repeated. They crested the top of the embankment, wriggled up onto the grass. Mark stood first, reaching for Nicky's hand. They began to help each other down. Nicky could see the palace from here, at the other end of the city, rising out of the keep. Wondered if the others were up there. If Shane and Kian were too. “I knew what you were saying, and I knew that you meant it.”

“I did.”

“I know.” Mark kissed his cheek. “I don't know if they can feel it too, if they're too poisoned to know what it's like, but they could never have lied to me. Not about you.” A hand stroked through Nicky's hair, and if Nicky hadn't felt entirely wretched he was sure he would have swooned a little. “What's the plan?”

“Considering an hour ago I thought I was going to die on a rooftop, I don't know that I have one.” He helped Mark down the last stretch of hill, until their feet were finally on solid ground. “Get Shane and Kian out, that's first.”

“How do we do that?”

“Not a clue.” He glanced at the boy beside him. “That thing you're wearing, can you take it off?” Mark raised an eyebrow. “Not like that. It's just a bit conspicious.”

“If I wear anything else, I'll end up naked when I change back,” Mark chuckled. It was Nicky's turn to raise his eyebrows, when Mark blushed slightly. He got a shove for his efforts. “What are you thinking?”

“That we need to hurry.” Nicky peered up at the broken length of wall they were passing, the one he knew led into Fleapit End. “Give me a boost.”

  
  


 


	13. Chapter 13

It probably didn't matter that Mark was a bit conspicous, not at this end of town. The streets were deserted, everyone up at the square as midnight neared. He could hear drums, the jeer of trumpets, the thump of feet banging along to clapping hands. They slid through the streets quickly, Mark's eyes wide as he took in the city for the first time, staring at the muddy, infested alleyways as though they were paved with gold.

“You live here?”

“Don't know that you'd call it living.” Nicky clambered up a high wall, was about to reach back to help when he realised Mark was moving faster, hand over hand like a lizard. He was already sitting on the top when Nicky reached it, legs dangling over the sides.

“Hurry up.” Long, pointed fingernails slid back into pale fingers. Nicky scowled.

“Show off.” He vaulted over, dropped to the stones on the other side, the chain on his ankle landing with a heavy clatter. Mark landed in a crouch beside him a moment later. “Good trick. Can you do it with the wings as well?”

“No. Or... if I can, I haven't figured out how. I'm stronger, though. I know that.”

“How strong?”

“Not sure.” He put a hand on Nicky's shoulder, turned him. Nicky went, baffled when Mark crouched down and put a hand on either side of the shackle still trailing a foot of chain behind them. There was a rending, squealing noise that made Nicky wince, and then...

Nicky blinked. The shackle dropped to the cobbles with a clatter. It looked twisted, slightly, and Nicky could see dents like fingers pressed into the metal.

“Could you do that before?”

“No.” Mark looked at his hands. There was something almost scaly about them in the moonlight, an impression in the skin when the light hit them the right way. “I feel different. I feel more like me when I'm changed, like I've got more control, but it goes the other way. There's always a little bit of it in the human part of me as well. I'm not sure which one I actually am, or if I'm both at the same time.”

“Aren't you scared?” Mark tilted his head. “How do you know you're still you? What if you...” A nervous twinge in his stomach. “What if you're turning into something else?”

“I'm not turning into something else.” A hand reached out to squeeze his. Soft skin, warm under the surface. Nicky squeezed back. “I'm turning into me, I think.”

“Oh.” Nicky nodded helplessly. “I see.” Mark darted in front, turned around, and Nicky pulled up short as he was caught in a kiss, a deep one that tasted exactly of Mark. It parted gently. He found himself smiling stupidly back.

“Let's get your friends back,” Mark suggested. “We've got a lot to talk about, and I don't think now's the time.”

Nicky agreed that was probably true. The palace loomed ahead of them, the sounds of the festival throbbing on the air.

The clock in the town square began to chime. A sudden cheer of trumpets.

Two hours left.

  
  


*

  
  


As they descended into the sewers he saw Mark sniff the air, shudder a little in a way that wasn't just the awful stench rising from the tunnels running under the city. His eyes flashed, steel blue. Nicky hesitated.

“They're nearby, aren't they?”

“Yes.” Mark craned his neck, then cringed away, as though the air itself was reaching for him. “Close. They're angry.”

“Can they sense you?”

“Maybe. The grey one... he's not like us. He can't turn but he finds us. He found me, when I was small, the others as well.” He ducked down into the tunnel. Nicky pulled the iron gate shut above them with a grinding clang. Knee deep water, dripping stone. It was disgusting, fallen in in places. Nicky reached blindly for the wall, for something to guide his course, but a hand slid into his instead. “Tell me which way.”

“You can see?”

“Yes.” He could see the reflection of Mark's eyes from the last of the light, narrowing pupils.

“Oh.” Nicky giggled, slightly hysterical. “I see. Erm.” He kept his hand on the wall anyway. “There'll be children down here, with any luck. The street mice. They hole up in the dryer spots.” Mark nodded, began to move forward, and Nicky heard the suck of him sniffing the air as the darkness wrapped around them, every step a splash. Something brushed his leg. Nicky chose not to wonder what it might be.

“There are more of us.”

“Are there?” Nicky asked numbly. “How many?”

“Not sure. Some of them died. The others were too young, I think.” Mark paused, pulling Nicky to a stop. “This way.” They took a left, Nicky stumbling along behind him. “I'm not sure if they're made, if we're born like this. We're... new. Old, at the same time. I don't know how to explain. It's like we've lived before, but this is the first time we've been human. The knife... it's enchanted. Woke us up, out of the ground after hundreds of years and into the closest children. Two souls in one body.”

Nicky shivered.

“The knife glows when one of us is nearby. I can't hurt him. I tried, but it... pushed me back. It's... there's something in it. Like it's alive.”

“How do you know?”

“I think I always knew.” The hand in his tightened. “I just couldn't remember. I'm not even sure they're my memories, or if they're from before.”

“What was before?”

“Everything.” They stopped again. Nicky stopped. Heard the ripples around his feet die away after a long moment. He could hear Mark sniffing, and then a splash, from further up the tunnel, echoing down the stone passageways.

“They're close.”

“They're here,” Mark whispered. Nicky froze. Heard the scrape of metal on stone.

“Hello.” It was a young voice, too full of bravado. “Explain or I'll slit your throat.” Nicky heard Mark snarl, grabbed his hand tighter to hold him.

“Don't,” he whispered. Felt claws bite into his palm before retracting again. “Who's that? Is that Jodi?” He knew her, one of the kids Kian had grown up with in the convent, though a few years younger than him. She'd always been a terror. “It's Nicky. Kian's in trouble.” He felt a blade press gently to his throat. “Shane and Kian. They're in the dungeons. We need help. They're going to...” It pressed harder. Claws dug into his hand again. “Do you want me to explain or are you just going to kill me?”

“Could do both. Who's your friend?”

“You can trust him,” Nicky promised. Mark growled. “Everybody just stay calm. Please.” The still silence wrapped around them. He could hear breaths in the darkness. Then the blade left his throat. Hands pushed him.

“Walk,” she said.

  
  


*

  
  


“You really expect me to believe you?” Jodi asked. Nicky pursed his lips. He didn't know what else to say. Had said everything, while they'd sat in the dank alcove off the sewers, probably an old basement that had been knocked through to the main passageways. It was almost homey, supplies and rusted weapons piled in the corners, blankets and dry straw along the far wall for makeshift bedding. There were fifty or so other children here, some older, like her at fifteen, others as young as six or seven.

He'd wondered, for a moment, why there weren't more of them at the raffle, and then realised. They weren't included. Of course they weren't. They were children. Orphans. As far as the kingdom was concerned they didn't exist.

“It's true,” Nicky said helplessly. He was on his knees on the stone floor, Mark beside him. She crouched down in front of him. Gave him a studying look that suggested curiosity was running out and she was tempted to just drown him instead.

“He's a dragon, is he?” She looked at Mark. “C'mon then. Let's see.” She flipped dark hair back over her shoulder, knotted in a long braid. She seemed to be wearing armour, though it was from different pieces and none of it really fit, was tied down with cord. There was a knife in her hand.

“There's not room,” Mark protested. He was right. He'd never fit a foot in here, not at full size. She moved the knife closer to his throat. “We don't have time for this. They're going to kill everyone if we don't...” Nicky nudged him.

“Do the thing.” Mark tilted his head in confusion. “The thing with your eyes.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you see in the dark.”

“Oh... er...” Mark closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them they were slitted, blue and silver. Her expression was hard to read, though she studied him for a moment, tongue darting out nervously. “I can...” He held his hands up slowly, and Nicky watched his fingernails narrow and lengthen into claws.

“S'pose I believe you,” she said finally. “What do you expect us to do?”

“You can get into the palace, can't you?” She shrugged. “Help us get them out. Mark and I will try to find the dragons, stop them if we can.”

“What if you can't?”

“Then you can thank us for giving you fair warning,” Nicky reasoned. Her eyes narrowed. “You want all these children to die? You can't fight this.” He noticed a few of them had drifted closer, had obviously been eavesdropping, and were watching with wide, frightened eyes. “Get out of the city. I'm just asking for you to take Shane and Kian on the way. Please.”

“You're sure they're still alive?”

“No,” Nicky admitted. “I'm not sure of anything.” He saw her face soften slightly. “Please,” he whispered.

“We'll do what we can.” She stood, shoving her knife in the leather sheath on her hip. “Get up.” They did so, Nicky's joints complaining stiffly, the cold having frozen into them. Mark was looking around warily. They all looked up at the noise of chimes above them, the ringing of the bells rattling down here into the depths. “Midnight you said?” They nodded. “You've got an hour, then.” She looked around at the children clustered around them. “Right. Anyone who can't hold a sword, you're my rats, I need you at the palace. Everyone else, start packing up, we're moving out. Arm yourselves if you can.” She looked at Nicky. “What are you still doing here? Go save us.” Her voice was mocking. “Go on, dragon-boy.” She laughed. Mark was going pink.

“Er...” Nicky hesitated. “Can I ask one more favour?”

  
  


*

  
  


The excitement in the air was palpable. Mark and Nicky left the sewer two streets over from the main square, and the streets were thick with people already. Children laughing, held in their mothers' arms, lads walking drunkenly together, signing aloud. Two girls in skirts dashed past, giggling.

“They look so happy,” he murmured. Nicky nodded.

“They do.” He looked at Mark. He'd removed the cloak, replaced it with a dirty brown one Jodi had allowed them to take, a grey one for Nicky. The blue one was bundled in a grey blanket under his arm. “Where are they?”

“Up there.” He turned, pointed. To a high window at the top of the tallest tower. There was a light there. Nicky wondered if they knew Mark was here. Supposed there was nothing they could do about it now. “She's frightened.”

“I know how she feels,” Nicky murmured. He could see Bryan, back on the street and wandering through the square, nodding and smiling and shaking hands. Felt a stabbing rush of anger. Knew it hadn't been his fault, not really. He'd paid with a toe, and he didn't owe them anything. They'd betrayed him, on the face of it.

He wondered if Bryan felt bad. If he thought about what was happening to them, in the dungeons. If he cared.

“I'm going up,” Mark said. “You need to go. Get somewhere safe.” Nicky shook his head. “Nicky...”

“I'm coming with you.”

“You'll be killed.” Mark leaned in to pull him into a hard hug. “Go. Please. If I'm going to try to stop this, I can't think about whether you're safe. Please.” He kissed Nicky's hair. “I love you, but I have to do this on my own.”

“I'm not leaving you.” He buried his face in Mark's shoulder.

“Go,” Mark pushed him gently away. Nicky felt his eyes fill with tears. Mark pushed him again. “Go. Now.”

“Mark...”

“ _GO!_ ” It growled. Something inhuman, flaring with the narrowing of pupils, the sudden purpling of pale skin.

“I...” He hesitated. A forked tongue darted out over pointed teeth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The kiss was hard. Sharp in a way it hadn't been, flickering into his mouth. Clawed hands yanked his hips in, urgent. “I love you,” Mark rasped, when it broke. Nicky shivered. “Goodbye.”

Mark ran into the night, and even if Nicky hadn't been frozen in horror he knew he'd never have been able to catch up.

  
  


*

  
  


The press was immense, as Nicky wound his way through the crowd. Most of the city, crammed into the cobbled square at the centre of town, turned towards a low stage erected at one end. Nicky pushed through, despite the squawks of indignance, the annoyed grunts around him, envious of the small bodies he could see nipping through the crush, liberating purses as they went. They were headed towards the east, though, and when he lifted his head to see he realised there were two boys on the path rising away from the square, motioning a steady stream of them away and into the night.

He wondered if Shane and Kian were safe. Had a feeling he'd never have a chance to find out.

“Move,” he growled, when someone stepped in his way. They didn't. He looked up.

“Nicky.” Bryan crossed his arms. “Fancy seeing you.”

“Bryan, I...” He shoved past, felt a hand grab at his wrist. “Let me go! They're going to kill us all if we don't...”

“Oh, the dragons, right?” He rolled his eyes. “Let it go, lad. There's no point trying to get out of trouble with these ridiculous stories.”

“Get out of my _way._ ”

“Fine.” Bryan stepped aside with a laugh. “Go on, then. Tell everyone about the dragons.” Nicky began to clamber up onto the stage, heard jeers behind him and a ripple of interest as people noticed the filthy lad in tattered clothes struggling up in front of them.

He turned. Stared. Thousands of people, looking towards him. Felt his throat close, not sure what to say. Not sure how even to start. Two guards were already marching towards him, up the steps. One mounted the stage and headed towards him, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Everybody needs to get out!” he shouted. “They're going to kill us!”

“Who is?” someone shouted. Nicky hesitated.

“The king,” he went with.

“The who?” it drifted from up the back.

“THE KING,” he shouted. He heard people start to mutter. “They've got a weapon. I came from the battlefield. They're going to turn it on us all if we don't get out of the city right now.”

“Whose king?”

“ _Our_ king.” He saw a couple of people shrug, one man twirl a finger around his ear, laughing. Felt himself go red. “You have to believe me. Please. There are _dragons_ , and...” The laughter was sudden and quiet, building volume as a steel grip clamped down on his arm. “Listen! You have to...”

“That's enough,” the guard holding him grunted. He started to drag. The other one was pulling out his sword.

“No, I...”

The first chime of midnight sent a racing panic up his spine.

The second was quiet compared to the cheer of the crowd. Nicky saw a small boy in the front row watching him and eating something greasy off a stick, eyes wide as he enjoyed the show.

“Is he crazy, da?”

Nicky didn't hear the father's response. Not over the third chime. The bells were clanging. People were whooping. His feet drummed futilely on wood as he was dragged away, the bells counting them closer to midnight.

The last bell chimed.

Expectant silence settled. People started to mutter. Torches lit the crowd.

He heard a woman scream.

Saw the shadow, crouched on the wall behind the crowd, an immense gargoyle.

It roared, the flames bursting above the crowd in a vicious rain.

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky's eyes streamed with tears as he ran. The smoke was thick. Not like it had been out there, when the camp had burned, a different sort altogether. Something molten and lurching, picking up people and stalls in a rolling tide. The smell was horrendous. Like filth and sulfur and charred meat, a smell he didn't want to think about in detail, not when he could hear running and shrieking, cut suddenly off by gouts of flame.

The guards had dropped him in fright, and he'd taken the opportunity to get away. Rolled off the stage and beneath it, crawled out the other side under the shadow of flapping wings. There had been others running alongside him, parents carrying their children, dogs and rats fleeing ahead and into alleys and sewers.

There were less of them now. He sobbed. Felt the heat swell at his back.

A roar drowned everything out.

He clapped his hands over his ears, saw a shadow dart above him in a hideous eclipse. The alley he'd run into was getting narrower, and he ducked through an open door into a house. Saw a woman try to do the same and flinched as she disappeared behind him, snatched away with an aborted shriek.

Ran. Up the stairs and out a back window, trying to find the river, sure he'd gotten turned around in his confusion. Made it onto the roof instead, wanting to find his bearings.

Stared.

The square, ablaze. People running, still. He couldn't look away, in his horror, as the black one swooped again, eyes gold and cruel. He looked almost to be enjoying himself. Nicky covered his mouth, wanting to throw up. Tears tracking down his cheeks.

Herding them, he realised. Towards the bottom of the hill, away from the palace. Darting after the ones trying to run and pushing them back towards the rest, like sheep for the slaughter.

The green one dipped, screeched. Nicky followed it with his eyes. Saw it land on the edge of a rooftop, peering down. Saw the grey shadow beside it.

Nicky marked him with his eyes. The other side of the square, perched three storeys high.

Another roar. He covered his ears, already crawling for the edge of the roof, determined to get away before...

A blue shape cut the air above him, a thunder of weight that filled the sky. Nicky stared up. A purple belly, flashing past, silver talons.

It hit the black one with all it's force, claws raking and teeth gnashing, wings a beating terror. Nicky resisted the urge to whoop. Saw the grey figure on the roof turn towards it as the two clashed for a moment, tumbling through the air, spitting fire and shrieking.

They hit the ground, Mark pinned, black death on top of him.

Nicky leapt for the edge.

  
  


*

  
  


He could hear the fight as he dashed between buildings, dodging pieces of flaming thatch that fluttered down. Shouted as one caught his sleeve and shrugged out of his grey cloak, leaving it smouldering on the cobbles behind him. He couldn't breathe. Could barely see, except he was heading in the right direction.

He was knocked to the ground, suddenly. Felt the air leave him when someone collided with him.

“Nicky?”

“Bryan?” He stood. That was him. Eyes wide and frightened in a face black with soot.

“Where are you going? There are dragons that way.”

“I thought there were no dragons?” He pushed away the proffered hand, climbed to his feet himself. “Run, Bryan.” He began to move away, shook off the grip that landed on his shoulder.

“I want to help.” Bryan coughed. The smoke was thickening, the heat worse. They both flinched at a pained growl, a harsh snarl in the grey darkness. “How do I help?”

“Get as many people out as you can,” Nicky ordered. “If you can't, leave.” Bryan nodded helplessly. “I have to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“To try to stop this.” They stared at each other, Bryan's trembling mouth seeming to stumble under a thousand words, some of which were surely apologies.

Nicky didn't need them. He ran into the smoke, instead, looking for Mark.

  
  


*

  
  


The streets narrowed as he ran through them, lungs burning in his chest. The screams were getting less, now, coming from further away. He wondered how many were dead. Heard an animal shriek carried on the air, and turned a corner, not sure if he was prepared for what he was about to see.

Blue scales flashed past, a wall larger than the houses. Nicky flinched back. Looked up, the craning, snapping heads so far above him it was madness. A midnight wing drenched in blood, ragged webbing torn by vicious claws. Bronze teeth snarled in the darkness, and above them a single golden eye, the other raked shut.

When he looked past the two he realised he could see people on the other side. Some trying to climb the city walls, others crying and clutching loved-ones against them. Mark was fending it off, blocking the fire and the teeth, back legs inching closer to the crowd, distracted from the fight by trying not to hurt them himself, tail wrapped about his haunches while the black beast lunged relentlessly.

He struck out. Raked at a black maw, snarling, then jolted forward, trying to gain ground, trying to pin it. It lurched up. Was pinned again while the Mark-dragon snapped at it's throat, slamming the immense head into the ground with curved claws, the back legs raking at it's belly, just as he'd been shown in those brutal sparring matches.

The black shape stilled, a golden eye falling closed.

Nicky held his breath. Saw Mark sniff it, looking wary.

Saw a golden eye crack open.

“Watch out!” he croaked. Saw sapphire eyes turn in surprise, widening in a pointed face. Cried in horror when bronze claws flashed through the smoke.

Mark toppled. Knocked aside and dazed, his landing a thunder as he skidded onto the cobbles, metres from the panicked masses. They began to run again, a stampede while the black dragon launched himself into the air, headed for the green one, snapping at it in anger. She flinched back, drifting into another circle. Seemed unsure. Not willing to engage. People were still running. He saw the grey shape wave his arms angrily, shouting something Nicky couldn't hear. The knife glowed golden.

She dropped.

“No,” Nicky whispered. Ran. Palms colliding with blue scales, a rough wall beneath his palms, shielding an immense throat. Beat on them, shouting Mark's name. Saw a sapphire eye blink open, pupil narrowing and widening, not really seeing. “Wake up,” he sobbed. “You have to.” He punched just below Mark's ear, felt a moan rumble through him. “Mark.” The shadow dipped, and he heard the snap of wings opening. “Mark. Please.” Climbed on, scrambling onto the back of his neck. “Get _up_.”

The world spun as he lifted in a dizzying rush, hoisted suddenly. Too high. Clung on through sheer panic, sure he was going to fall. Above the smoke. Clear air and starlight, people too small. Inconsequential, a shrieking mass below them.

He saw three figures dashing through the streets, a girl ahead, braid streaming behind her. Two dirty men following, one limping a little.

“Shane,” he breathed. Mark made a noise that was soft and almost curious. Turned, too fast, Nicky's hands almost bleeding as he tried to keep his grip on the rough scales. Kept holding tight as they thundered across the square, Mark stumbling, his damaged wing lying useless at one side as the green dragon made a loop in the air, then hovered, flapping in confusion.

“Hey!” He heard it from the ground. Looking down was a mistake, but through the panicked spin of gravity he realised it was Bryan. “You just going to stand there?” Nicky wasn't sure what he was on about, but then he realised. A cart, dragged by two other lads. Piled high with buckets, barrels. People were still trying to run, but he saw a few of them hesitate. “Make a line. They think they can burn us down? We'll fucking put it out before they have a chance.” Nicky laughed, hysterical. “And if anybody wants to have a go at that grey fuck on the roof, I'll give 'em a thousand meself, for the privilege of cutting him down.”

That seemed to help. Directionless bravado, maybe, but a few men grabbed buckets. Then more. Others, swarming for the building. The green dragon swooped again, a short burst of flame belching from her throat, but it blasted uselessly onto stone, melting the cobbles, nothing to catch alight.

“She's scared,” he murmured. Heard a soft snort below him. “She doesn't want to hurt people.” He looked around, saw the black dragon crouched behind the man in grey, snapping uselessly in pain, it's eye closed and gushing, snout a carved mess. They'd lost control. Men were closing in.

She dropped again, a swoop. Landed nearby, looking around. Mark staggered towards her, Nicky holding tight as he swayed hundreds of feet above the ground.

“Kill them, you bitch!” he heard the man on the rooftop shout. He sounded small, suddenly, not as frightening. Almost pointless. “I'll put you back in the ground. You know I can...” She looked around, eyes wide. Mark leaned in, nuzzling her cheek. She looked back, and Nicky saw his own reflection in an enormous eye, painted in greens and browns. Reached out gently.

“Hello,” he murmured. She blinked, his hand tracing the scales beneath her eye. “What's your name?”

There was the thump of wings. None of them had time to react, not when a black shadow landed on top of her, knocking Mark aside. Nicky lurched, tipped, felt empty air embrace him for what felt an age.

Then he dropped.

 


	14. Chapter 14

Once, when Nicky had been small, he'd accidentally set the barn on fire.

He'd been meaning to see what the noise was. The one that was all grumbles and snarls in the darkness. The one that sounded like a story.

It had been a good story. There'd been a brave knight, with armour and a sword, and a beast with claws like spears and eyes of blue stone. They'd seen the little knight running to save the princess. The one trapped in the tower by a monster.

He'd never known how it had ended. But that night, the story still shivering in his bones, he'd heard the noise in the darkness, and had to go see it for himself.

The smoke rose up around him as he fell, hands clutching at nothing. So fast it snatched his breath. So slow he felt almost still, while people ran and tried to put out the fires, while the stars stared down, uncaring, gods and demons written across the sky.

He didn't have time to scream.

The landing was softer than he expected. Felt the ground catch him, slowing his fall, breath leaving him in a startled punch. Then up, a dizzy bounce that flung him sideways. Realised it was a wing, enormous and leathery, him sliding towards the edge until he tumbled sickeningly to the ground with a shriek of pain, arm in the wrong direction and caught beneath him.

He lay there, gasping, for long minutes, the fight going on beside him. Green and blue, the black snarling and clawing from the ground. A blur of colour and shape and shadows, rumbling the earth.

“Nicky.”

He coughed. Tasted blood. Felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him up. His wrist screamed, a lightning burst of pain that sent everything dark for a moment. When he came to he was moving, dangling above the ground in strong arms. Opened his eyes.

“You with us?” Kian. Carrying him, cradled to his chest, Shane running alongside. “Nicky.”

“What...” He nearly threw up as he was set down in a corner. The fires were starting to go out, he knew. It didn't feel as hot. He could hear people shouting, someone else bellowing instructions. Shane crouched in front of him.

“Nicky.” Fingers snapped in front of his face. He blinked, then cringed away, scowling.

“Go away.”

“He's fine, then,” Shane chuckled. Kian snorted.

“What's going on?”

“Jodi's got a way out.” He gestured over his shoulder, and Nicky saw her standing blurrily behind them, looking impatient. “Need you on your feet. We're going out through the sewers. Can't carry you all the way.”

“I...” He winced when he moved his arm. Not broken, he didn't think, but it was swollen. He tried to make a fist, bit down on the pain when it bloomed suddenly sharp. “I can't leave. Mark...”

“He can take care of himself.”

“The grey man.” Nicky sat up, trying to look over the rooftops, for a shape. “The knife. They can't touch him.” Shane and Kian exchanged worried looks.

“You're hurt.”

“He'll make more,” Nicky protested. “If he gets away, he'll make more. This is just the start. As long as he has it...” He tried to push himself up, felt a wave of dizziness send him back down. “I'm finishing this.” He tried again, managed to stagger up with Shane's help. “I have to finish this.”

“Okay,” Kian said finally. He looked at Shane, who nodded. “Suppose somebody's got to look after you. You want to come?”

Jodi shrugged, a laughing dancing at her mouth. “Heard there's a bounty. I expect a third.”

“A quarter, you mean?”

“No.” She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. Nicky laughed, feeling it shatter out of him while he tried not to cry. “Where is he?” Nicky pointed. She shimmied up the wall and stood on top, looking across the city. “Not far. We can make it.” She leapt back down, feather-light. “Follow me.”

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky had thought he knew every passage and short-cut in the city, but it was nothing compared to Jodi. They moved at a run, her always three steps ahead, taking corners and ducking through doorways. The fighting was still going, but it was weakening, the snarls and growls turning to whimpers. Nicky just hoped Mark was winning.

“Here.” Jodi ducked into a house. Nicky peered through the window, saw the flash of wings. Half the houses nearby were rubble, swept apart by flailing and thrashing, blackened by smoke. Nicky flinched as a tail swept past the house, missing them by inches and sending a blast of hot wind through the open window. They had him backed into a corner, it looked like, wings crippled and golden eye rolling in pain, though he was still fighting back, holding them off with bursts of weakening flame.

“He's the one.” They all looked around. Shane was staring, voice hollow when he spoke. “I...” His hands slowly clenching into fists. “That's him. They told me I was crazy but I knew it. I knew...” His tongue darted out. “That's the _thing_ that killed my _mam_.”

“Shane...” Nicky felt his chest clench in horror. Didn't know how to explain. To say it hadn't been Mark's fault. That he'd never meant...

“Which one?” Kian asked.

“The green one.” Shane took a step forward, face a mask of anger. “I saw it.” He swallowed while Nicky looked on, speechless. “I'll kill it,” he rasped. Kian put a hand on his shoulder. “I'll fucking kill it myself.”

They climbed the stairs quickly, clambered out of an upstairs window. Nicky could see the grey cloak fluttering. Five houses away, two storeys up.

Jodi swore beside him. Nicky looked. It was a sight. Towering above them, Mark stalking closer, the green dragon pacing in fitful steps, tail swinging angrily. The black dragon was back on his feet, beginning to circle, all three of them wary. He saw the female hiss. Saw the knife, when the grey cloak flapped aside, hilt glowing brightly. He was saying something, some enchantment, eyes fixed on them like he thought he could get them under control. Nicky saw the fear, though, flickering through his gaze. Saw the flinch when a tail swung close enough to knock stone from the roof next door. Shane was moving slowly, eyes fixed on the green one.

They crept across. He hadn't seen them. Two storeys above and too focused on the fight. Nicky climbed slowly, moving in behind.

He padded carefully across the roof. Reached. Waiting for the clock to flip back again, waiting for...

He gasped in surprise as something wrapped around his throat, lifting. Couldn't find the air to shout, feet above the ground, dangling uselessly. Heard Shane shout a warning, too late, as he stared into slate-grey eyes that peered cruelly back.

“Hello, thief.” He was thrown to the ground, screamed in pain when he landed on his wrist, the world blotting red and black, fading into a slick of yellow, oil on the air, shining like the blade of the knife. A translucent barrier that encircled both of them while his friends beat their hands futilely against nothing, yellow ripples spreading wherever their fists landed.

“You don't really think I'm that stupid.” His throat was caught again, by a hand that wasn't there, yellow ripples in the air. It dragged him up, choking him. He saw Shane inches away, shouting, though he couldn't hear the words. The air was still. An invisible room with silent walls. “You've ruined everything, boy.” Nicky sucked in a shrill breath, tried for another. Everything was going black at the edges. “I look forward to killing you.”

The blue dragon paused, it's teeth around a heaving throat.

“I'll kill him,” the grey man sneered. Nicky realised it wasn't him he was talking to. “Bend the knee, or I'll kill him.” The invisible hand tightened.

“Don't,” he tried to say. Nothing came out. Mark was letting go. A black head landed heavily on the cobbles, then rolled to the side. Not dead. Chest, rising and falling. Nicky's tried to do the same. Couldn't. Heaved, feet kicking at the air. The green dragon looked between them in confusion.

“This is what you want?” Mark took a hesitant step closer. “You always were a stupid, sentimental child, weren't you?”

A bellow of anger, even through the barrier, an enormous muffled thing that blotted out the world.

Then a splat, as something brown and wet hit the yellow wall, splashing outwards in an amber shiver.

“What...” The hand loosened, just enough to get a breath in. Nicky saw a lettuce hit the barrier, was sure for a moment he'd passed out and was making it up, but then a bucket landed not two inches from his face, bouncing off. Another handful of what he hoped was mud.

A spear, splintering in two as it hit. Another bucket. Two wooden bowls. A rock. Nicky saw torches flickering below when they moved closer to the edge. A crowd of people, Bryan at front, all with whatever they could hold. He felt the hand loosen again, then tighten. Not in danger, but distracted while they were pelted with debris, with mud and shit and stone. Distracted...

The hilt burned in his hand. He yanked it anyway, felt it come free. Grey eyes turned in surprise and Nicky grinned.

He fell. Saw the yellow slick trickle into the air, like grease into a river. A bucket sailed through the air. Nicky ducked, heard the crack of the collision above, then saw the grey figure topple, too close to the edge of the roof, feet scrabbling for balance.

The crowd swallowed him up, his screams cut short in a moment.

Nicky collapsed to the rooftop, sobs trying to make their way out of his constricted throat.

  
  


*

  
  


Nicky wondered if this was what heaven was like.

White room, soft bed. He lay still for a long moment, staring at the golden canopy above him. There was the smell of food, somewhere. He was clean, in a long white nightshirt that tangled under the covers, his hair combed back from his face.

He remembered not being able to breathe. Remembered falling and fire and being swallowed up by darkness.

Dead, he supposed. Hadn't thought he'd get to heaven, but this certainly wasn't hell. Not with blue sky outside his window and a gentle breeze wafting birdsong through the room.

“You're awake,” Mark chuckled. Nicky looked over in surprise, saw him leaning in the doorway.

“Mark?” He coughed, felt his throat ache around the words. “You're dead too?”

“Er...” Mark raised an eyebrow. “Dead? No.” He crossed the room, sank down beside Nicky. There was a healing scratch above his eye, a bruise on his cheek. His arm was bandaged, pink through the wrappings. “How are you feeling? Would you like something to drink?”

“Ehm.” Nicky began to push himself up. His own wrist was splinted and wrapped, he realised when he went to lean his weight on it. Tender. “Oh.”

“It's healing. You're healing.” Fingers gently brushed his cheek, and he flinched when he felt the sting of a black eye left over from a vicious back-hand on a rooftop. “It's been three days. You've been in and out.” Nicky licked dry lips.

“Shane...”

“Is fine,” Mark assured him. “Everyone's fine. We've all been waiting for you.” Nicky stared at him in confusion.

“What happened?”

  
  


*

  
  


The gardens were beautiful. Nicky stood near the bench, staring as a butterfly drifted past. There were hundreds of them, it seemed like, fluttering in the flowering shrubs surrounding them, bright with pinks and yellows and oranges. Mark sank down beside him.

“Start slow.” He put down a tray containing a hunk of bread and a cup of milk. Nicky blinked at them.

“Where are we?”

“Guess.” Nicky shook his head. “Look over there.” Nicky did, sidling closer to the edge. Gasped when he realised. The city, down below, spread out like a toy. He could see smoke from chimneys, people moving about, carrying wood and stone. The river, winding it's way through as far as he could see, headed for the gates.

“The palace,” he murmured. “We're in the keep.”

“Yes.” Mark came to stand beside him. Nicky shook his head. So many people. Soldiers, as well. Crumbled stone piled near the city gates. “They're rebuilding.”

“The dead...”

“Too many.” Their hands linked together. “We're doing our best.” Nicky felt a tear run down his cheek, followed by another, numb sorrow that froze in his chest. “Bryan said you tried to warn people. You probably saved us all.”

“I didn't,” Nicky croaked. “I just...” He put his hands over his face, felt Mark pull him in. “Nobody would listen.”

“Shh...” Arms wrapped around him. Nicky heaved. Felt it all flood out of him. Memories, coming back in the wrong order, all of them horrible. “You were wonderful.” A sobbed wracked him while Mark kissed his hair. “I did tell you to run, you know.”

“Since when have I done what I'm told?” He heard a soft laugh in reply.

“The army arrived just after dawn. Seems they were sent from guarding a castle to fight an invader, and when they got there someone was clever enough to realise it was the heir to the throne, travelling with his own company. It appears someone didn't want him getting here alive.”

“But...” Nicky pulled back in surprise. “The new king...”

“Wasn't even here. He is now, though, found his court hiding in the palace, waiting for dragons to kill half the city. I don't believe he was impressed.” A kiss pecked Nicky's nose. “They're awaiting sentencing. It seems there are a few different accounts of what happened, but most of them can agree that a thief and a dragon were seen protecting the survivors. Bryan's been very descriptive.”

“That sounds like him,” Nicky sighed. He wondered how much of a hero Bryan had painted himself as, and then decided to let him have this one. He'd come through in the end. Mark handed him the cup of milk. Nicky sipped it carefully, trying to get his thoughts straight while the afternoon sun warmed his skin. “What happens now?”

“We'll stay here until you're well,” Mark murmured. An arm came gently back around his waist. “By order of the king. You're to be given the best possible treatment.” Nicky laughed.

“Me?” Mark kissed his cheek.

“You.”

  
  


*

  
  


He rested again, after that. When he woke Shane and Kian were sat by his bed, arguing over nothing, though they paused to hug him and tease him for being lazy. Nicky saw tears in Shane's eyes when he pulled away. Cried a little himself, too. They looked beautiful, in clean clothes and good health, Shane giggling about the knighthoods they'd been promised, for bravery and loyalty to the crown. Nicky asked if they were sure they had the right people.

The physician suggested he rest. His breathing wasn't good, throat bruised and lungs still full of smoke. They let him take small trips around the garden, Mark holding his hand. He didn't see many other people, but he watched, looking over the garden wall while the city put itself back together, the spring blooming into a warm summer.

The other dragons were gone. The green had disappeared. Had launched herself into the sky and soared into the night, a black cloak left limp on the ground and blood on her teeth.

“Stay with me,” he whispered one night. Mark kissed his cheek. He usually left, once Nicky was in bed, back to his own room down the corridor. Nicky was supposed to be getting rest, after all.

“I'd like to.” A nose rubbed his. Nicky smiled back. The last weeks had been perfect, with Mark. Sitting together like they had in the tower, in their own little world. Except this time there was no hiding, no lies between them. Just Mark, and his soft laughter, and his stories. Shane and Kian as well, all the people he loved.

He fell asleep to skin on his, soft kisses on his neck, his hands stroking over rough shoulders that felt almost hot to the touch.

When he woke it was late, and he was alone.

He went to the window, looking out. Waited for a long time, mapping stories in the stars until they were interrupted by spread wings, a black shadow against the sky. Felt the beat of them on his skin, until he heard a flutter on the roof and Mark slid back in through the open window.

“Your landings are getting better,” Nicky commented, when they were in bed again. Fingers stroked down his cheek. “Do you go every night?”

“Most nights.” Nicky nodded. Couldn't stop touching Mark, naked skin that felt so soft under his palm. Down his thigh and over his arse, up a stomach and chest, the shape of him almost unreal compared to what he'd been before. “It's so big, Nicky. I can't help it.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes. Trapped in a tower so long, never seeing the world. Of course it made sense.

“I'll always come back.” Nicky hadn't realised he'd been thinking it, but he felt himself relax. “No matter how far I go.”

“You don't forget me?”

“I never could.” Teeth bit playfully at his nose. Nicky laughed, shoving at him. “I'm yours. You know I'm yours.” The embrace was tighter, suddenly. Nicky lay his head on a strong shoulder, felt a heart beat against his. “When you're well, you can come with me.”

“Mm,” Nicky agreed. Mark's heat was soothing, pulling him to sleep. “Where will we go?”

“We'll see the whole world.” A kiss brushed his ear. “You and me.”

“You and me.” It was a breath, all he could manage.

“You and me.” Mark gathered him in as he drifted towards sleep.

  
  


*

  
  


The throne room was enormous. Nicky looked around himself, unable to believe it. Gold and light and wonder. Jodi grinned at him cheekily from between Shane and Kian, looking uncomfortable in her gown.

He bent to one knee. Felt the flat of the blade touch one shoulder, than the other.

“Arise, Sir Nicholas.” He did so, swallowing hard when the king smiled at him. Nice enough fellow. He felt himself sway on his feet, the exhaustion from the trip downstairs finally catching up with him.

Mark went away again that night. Came back just before dawn and kissed Nicky awake, pressed against him. Nicky was arching before he knew what was happening, breathing in the scent of rain and grass and the wind. Taken carefully, feeling overwhelmed by the sweet affection in every touch, the reverence when Mark breathed his name.

“Have you found her yet?” he asked afterwards, when they were wiped down and settled. Mark looked at him in surprise.

“Who?”

“You know who.” He pressed a kiss to reddened lips. “You're looking for her, aren't you? The other one.”

“I'm looking for all of them,” Mark admitted. Nicky tilted his head. “The others. He said they were too young, but they're still out there.” He nuzzled Nicky's cheek. “I can feel them.”

“How many?”

“I don't know.” Mark bit his lip. “But they're probably scared. I don't want them to grow up like I did. People frightened of them. Frightened of themselves.”

“I love you,” Nicky whispered. Mark looked up. “Will you go when you find her?”

“I'll come back.”

“I know you will.” He smiled. Felt a hand grasp his. “You can't bring her here. You know Shane...” Mark nodded, though his eyes darted strangely. “What?”

“Just...” He shook his head. “I know her. I don't know how to explain it, but I do. From before. I thought it was just the dragon remembering, but...” He pressed a palm to his forehead, looking pained. Nicky waited. “I don't know.”

“You'll figure it out,” Nicky assured him. “I know you will.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

“Where's Mark gone?”

“Away.” Nicky turned the corner. It was the first time they'd been out of the keep since everything had happened, finally felt well enough to walk around with his friends. They'd done well, putting things back together. The slums had been rebuilt into small, modest houses by order of the king, to help people get back on their feet. Nicky could smell flowers, small memorials and wreaths in windows and alleys, to remember the ones they'd lost.

The marketplace was crowded. Nicky smiled when he saw Bryan, got a friendly wave back.

“Don't want to hide under the table?”

“Tempting.” Nicky reached out a hand. Bryan shook it. “Fresh start?”

“I suppose.” Bryan winked. Still a sneaky, crooked arsehole, but Nicky guessed they were square. For now. “Been wondering when I'd see you. Funny the things I've found picking through the rubble.”

“You've not been selling people's belongings back to them?” Kian sighed. Bryan rolled his eyes.

“No.” He reached under the stall, pulled out a flat box.

“How much?”

“It's a gift. Thought you might want it back.” Nicky opened the box gingerly, laughed in surprise when he saw a soap-slick blade, a black hilt with tiny yellow stones that seemed to peer back at him. “You should be grateful. You know how much I could've sold that for? Real relic of the dragon battle and all.”

“Thanks, Bryan.” He ran his hand over the hilt, saw Shane take a step back. “Thank you. Really.” He closed the box again to spare Shane the discomfort. “Can I ask something?” Bryan shrugged. “Who were you stealing it from? In the first place, I mean.”

“Some nobleman.” Bryan shrugged again. “All I knew was the address.” He glanced over their shoulders. “I've got business, though, so move on.” They stepped aside, Nicky clutching the box.

“What are you going to do with it?” Kian asked.

“I'm not sure yet.” He hesitated. “I want to go for a walk.”

  


*

  


The house was still standing. They climbed the hill slowly, Nicky feeling out of breath before they were half way up. He was getting better, but slowly, was prone to coughing fits, and sitting indoors all the time had made him slow and weak.

The door wasn't locked. They pushed it open. Empty house. Dust on every surface. Abandoned for months, it looked like.

Nicky climbed the stairs, looking for some clue.

Stopped in the doorway to the bedroom.

“What it is?”

“I don't...” He stepped closer. Huge tapestry, covering the western wall. A map, he realised when he stepped back to look at it properly. Oceans and rivers, green lines for the land, curling into whorls here and there, brown stitching for farms and villages and cities. And peering from behind them, hidden in the landscape, were tiny dragons. More stitched the border, an endless loop of tails and flame, one leading into the next, in a hundred colours. Nicky touched them gently.

“It's where the dragons are?” Shane asked. Nicky shook his head.

“It's where they were buried.” He ran his thumb over a blue and purple shape, a green one right beside it, almost on top of each other beside a lake to the west of the map. “They were woken, found new homes in children close by. They...” He looked at Shane, realised suddenly. “I know where she is.”

“Who?” Shane asked. Kian tilted his head. Nicky looked back at the map.

“Your sister,” he laughed, his thumb brushing over the small green shape.

  


*

  


The ground was a map, miles below. Nicky whooped. Hadn't realised he'd missed this, the immense quilt of the world spread out below, feeling so close he could almost touch the clouds.

“Don't like it,” Shane muttered. Kian laughed and came to stand beside Nicky, peering over the edge of the basket. They'd had it made, a special commission from the king after explaining what they intended to do. It was too dangerous to ride on Mark's back all the time, after all, and somebody had to be out there looking for the other dragons. They hardly needed a repeat of the last time.

They hadn't mentioned the knife. Nice enough king he might have been, but it was power Nicky didn't trust in other hands. He barely knew what to do with it himself.

They'd asked to take over the house where the tapestry was hung. It had been gifted to him immediately. A knight had to own property, after all, and there was no-one else to use it. Not since it had been occupied by a sweet old man and his seamstress niece.

Mark had sniffed the room, eyes glassy.

“Was she...?”

“She ran away from him. Stole the knife.” He'd pressed his palm to the wall, fingers outstretched. “Came here. To her uncle's house. He killed them both.” Nicky had seen pupils narrowing in anger. “He couldn't hurt them, not while she had it, so he paid to have it stolen.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” He'd blinked, and his eyes had been Mark's again. “We share memories. I can feel them, when they're close.”

“Will you be able to live here?”

“Yes.” Dark eyes had studied at the tapestry. “She'd want us to find the others.”

Now Mark was above them, great chest hovering above the basket strapped at the base of his neck.

“Shane, you've got to see this!”

“No, thank you.” Kian took pity on him apparently, because he went back over, sinking down beside Shane. Nicky smiled, watched them cuddle into each other, then looked back at the knife, waiting for the shimmer to turn into a glow.

It wasn't long before he saw a large farmhouse below them, on acres of farmland. They began to move lower, the shape of it rising up until it disappeared behind the trees. There was a thump as they landed. A hill, Nicky realised, beside a pond. They climbed out carefully, Mark slipping free of the basket as he shrank down and stepped away.

“This is it?” Nicky asked. Mark nodded.

“Yes.” He glanced in the direction of the house, but it was out of sight. Shane was staring. Kian took his hand.

“Shane?”

Shane didn't reply. Took two steps forward, eyes filling with tears.

Then he broke into a run.

They dashed after him. Through the trees and up another hill. A small shack over the crest, burnt out ruins. Shane was stopped, a frozen silhouette in the afternoon sun. Nicky stopped beside him.

A woman looked up. Stood on the front step, a tattered green cloak about her shoulders.

“Yvonne,” Shane breathed. She backed away, looking worried, eyes darting to Mark. “Yvonne. It's Shane. It's...”

“Shane,” she murmured. Then her eyes cleared, as she peered at him. “Shane.” A hand covered her mouth. She was crying. He was too. Nicky nudged him.

“Go on,” he said.

Shane was already running.

  


*

  


Nicky stood at the window of the farmhouse, watching wings spread in the darkness.

The flutter was soft. Nicky closed his eyes. Heard feet land beside him. Felt hands settle on his waist.

“I'm sorry I was so long.”

Nicky nodded, felt a kiss suck at his nape.

“Sixteen days,” he said. Every hour had felt longer than the one before, waiting for Mark to come back. No word on if he was safe. The last trip had been ten days, the one before it almost a month. “Where were you?”

“We found two. They're safe.” Nicky nodded. “Are you angry?”

“No.” He sagged when Mark wrapped around him, arms holding him in. “Love...” He turned, pressed his face into a chest that smelled of the sky. Realised he was crying. Mark kissed his hair. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For missing you. I don't mean to.” He looked up at the sound of creaking in the hall. Saw a small, curious face peer around the door. “It's late, Nicole. What are you doing up?”

“Bad dream.”

Mark snorted, kissed his cheek, then pulled away. Nicky went to take her hand, felt it fit into his, the roughness of scars on the back. The third they'd found. There were eight of them, now. Mark and Yvonne had found more, safe with parents who understood, but there were others. Abandoned and abused by parents who treated them like monsters for the marks on their skin, for the difference in them.

Mark's own family had greeted him with amazement. Fair enough, considering they'd been told he'd died years before. The story had spilled out over a long night of explanations and tears, and they'd been more than happy to welcome him back in, to gift his friends the land over the hill, where the ruins of a burnt-out shack stood.

It was still being built, a school and home for the children who needed somewhere to go, someone to take care of them. Maybe more than the farmhouse Shane had always wanted to retire to once the adventuring was over, but their new wards loved he and Kian already, even if they ran rings around them, giggling and fluttering small wings and getting scolded for setting fires.

They were handy for getting a kettle boiled, Nicky would give them that.

When he was done settling her he found Mark outside, sat on the grass. Sank beside him. An arm came around his waist, and he let his head rest on a strong shoulder, shivering in the cold until he felt a leathery wing encase him, glowing with heat. He snorted, pulled it against him like a blanket.

“You're getting better at that.”

“Can't have you freezing.”

“Mm.” He looked out over the fields. Could just see the top of the new house, wooden frame and stacked stone, waiting to be finished.

“I have to go away again.”

“I know.” Nicky smiled. “You'll come back.”

“I will.” He nuzzled in, felt softness beyond the flicker of scales. “Want to hear a story? It's in the stars.” Nicky snorted, nodding. “There was this knight, you see, and it was running towards a castle, wanting to slay an evil dragon.”

“I think I've heard this one.”

“Not this version.” Mark kissed his cheek. “You see, he thought he was going to save a princess, but instead he found a frightened boy, who just wanted a friend.” Nicky smiled. “And even though he was frightened himself, he never gave up, even when it looked like there was nothing he could do, he still fought his hardest, because he was brave.”

“I didn't feel brave,” Nicky murmured.

“That's how you know it's bravery,” Mark replied. “He had friends, as well, because he'd always been kind, and they fought for him, even when he thought he didn't deserve it. When he wanted to do everything on his own, to keep them safe.” A sweet laugh kissed at his ear. “And that's what killed the monster, in the end.”

“A bucket?”

“That too.” Nicky smiled into his shoulder, felt it warm beneath his cheek. Gathered up in a soft embrace, arm and wing together. Mark, holding him in. “You never needed a sword,” he murmured. “You were always enough.”

“So how does the story end?” He looked up. Saw sapphire eyes that softened when they looked at him, reflecting the stars.

Mark snorted.

“Who says it has to?”

  


*

  


The world was bigger than he'd ever expected. High up, the earth a tapestry below, rivers and creeks stitched blue into the world, brown patches cut through the green to show where people were, embellished with grey ruins and the dark swells of hills and mountains. Days on foot, covered in minutes as they soared above the earth.

Nicky whooped, saw a green shape peel off to the west of them, two smaller ones behind it, red and pink blurs that followed her into a playful loop, the three of them chasing each other across the sky.

He looked down again. Had lost sight of the city, had to be three days north by cart at the least. A small village below, ringed by green farmland.

A farmhouse. A barn. Felt his breath catch. Saw shapes moving in the yard, two women in skirts, a man in the back bent next to an old plough, laughing with a lad just barely grown.

He didn't need to say anything. Not when his heart was beating so hard Mark could hear it.

They dipped into a glide, headed for home.

 


End file.
